Define Dangerous
by VampedVixen
Summary: While escaping the Company, Sylar meets up with someone from his past. Together, they must piece together some semblance of normality after years of captivity. Future AU.
1. Chapter 1

Lights flashed on, bright and almost painful, waking Sylar from the freedom of sleep. No matter how much he dreamed of escaping, home or safety it was always to these same prison walls that he awoke. The three gray monotone walls zapped all color and life out of the universe; that one window of unbreakable glass always made him feel like he was trapped in a fishbowl. They'd finally figured out how to build a better mousetrap. The mouse was getting stronger though.

"Good morning, Mr. Gray," The nurse, whom he so long ago nicknamed Ratched after that old Jack Nicholson movie, punched in the code to his cell. She entered carrying some medical equipment, vials of blood she'd collected from other 'guests', some syringes containing that familiar black poison and a clipboard filled with all the personal data they'd collected on him. Her tone was polite, overly so, but he saw through that facade. It was just another trick to keep the freaks complacent. "Time for your injections."

He swung his legs around his bed; there was little he could do about what was coming next. He'd fought their treatments in the beginning, showed them every bit of aggression that was left in him to get out of it. In time he came to realize that this battle couldn't be won. They'd only tie him down, restrict his food supply, shove him into solitary for a few weeks, try any number of new torture ideas on him and only continue to force the poison into his veins in the end anyway.

He'd lost too much fighting this already, but the war wasn't over yet.

Rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, Sylar showed no emotion. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction. "If I'm a good little guinea pig, do I at least get a toy surprise like at the dentist?"

Nurse Ratched wrapped the rubber tubing around his bicep and prepared the syringe. "Don't get smart with me, Mr. Gray." Every time she spoke his name, she placed a special emphasis on it. When he first arrived at this facility, it had angered him. They'd made a note of it and used it as ammo against him ever since. It had lost some of its bite by now. In truth, he was neither Sylar nor Gabriel Gray anymore these days, but something new all together, something which these scientists and this company molded him into. "I heard what happened last Friday."

To him the days all blended together, one into the other, but he could guess what she was referring to. "You can't blame me for trying. That guard turned his back on me, left the opportunity wide open. The company's getting sloppy."

"That guard is in the hospital wing this week after what you did to him." She stabbed the needle hard into his arm, plunging the serum into him. It burned through his blood stream, a feeling he was used to by now. It would subside eventually.

The first time they tested out this special brand of poison on him, the nurse took pleasure describing in detail what it did to his body, how it destroyed the cells where his special abilities lay, killing off any abnormality and rendering him completely normal and more than a little nauseated and fatigued.

All science aside, what he knew for certain was that it hurt like hell, like a fire burning away at his insides, wasting away all his precious talents. As he lay back down, he held close to any signs of pain, not letting his captors see him crack. He was fighting a war after all. A war that was as relentless as it was physically taxing.

"I really hate to do that to you, but you are a safety concern for everyone here, including yourself." The nurse jotted down a note on her clipboard. "Have you thought about what I said last time? We have many opportunities for a man of your talents here at our company. You could be very happy as an assassin or recruiter. You just need to apply yourself more."

"Not a chance," He grit his teeth against the pain. All his life, people had been telling him to apply himself more, make an effort to do something special, be someone special. His teachers. His mother. The company. This was as far as the road to success had taken him, trapped in a cage, wasting away but defiant to the last. "I am not your trained dog. Tell the company they can kiss my--"

"Now, now, Mr. Gray. There's no need for profanity." Nurse Ratched reprimanded him as she began packing up her supplies. "If that's truly the way you feel, I suppose there's nothing more that can be done. I've held out for you as long as possible, but my supervisors are eager to move onto the next phase of your treatment, whatever that may be, either to working for them or on to termination."

"Termination?"

"There's only two ways out of this compound. It seems you've made your choice which route you want to go." She spoke so calmly about killing him; she'd done it to others before him and would do it again after he was gone. They were not so far apart on the moral scale and in this light it was unclear which of them was the real monster. "I'm sorry it's come to this. I'll have them draw up your dismissal papers as soon as possible."

The door closed behind her, locking in place as Sylar took in the meaning of the conversation. The war between him and the company was quickly coming to a head. They were going to kill him. He knew they would eventually, but now it was definite. He watched as the nurse left the observation hallway, leaving him alone. It was only then that he let go of the scream building up inside him.

As Sylar let go of his pain and anger, he began to plan.

He would not let them win this war.

* * *

Sylar focused all of his attention on the window, willing it to break, willing it to melt into goo, willing it to freeze, willing it to do anything but stare blankly right back at him. His powers were useless with the poison running through his veins, he knew this but he never stopped trying to do what had once come so easily to him.

It had to be there, in the back of his mind, some part of him that remembered how to use his abilities, even through the haze the serum put him in. He pushed his mind to the brink before pounding on the window with his fists. Had he ever stolen super strength from anyone? He couldn't remember. There were so many deaths and it had been so long ago. Besides, he was still dizzy from that morning's session and angry over being forced to sign his own termination papers an hour ago. Signing one's own death certificate was supposed to be a metaphor but here it was all too real. At least, once he got out of there, if he ever did get out of there, he'd be considered legally dead by all law enforcement agencies.

He'd tried this before, tried escaping so many times he could barely keep track of the attempts. They'd all ended with him getting beat down, handcuffed and shoved back into his cell. For a while, he gave up trying. It was easier not to try anymore, easier to be the meek little boy who depended on his mother's approval.

Now that an even greater threat loomed on the horizon, Sylar knew he had to try again. He beat the window until his hands were black and blue, screaming with each thrust of his fist. All the while, his mind continued following the familiar processes that would have moved heaven and earth had it not been for the drugs coursing through his system.

Eventually, he exhausted himself and leaned his head against the cool glass. The headache from that morning had dissipated a while ago but a new one threatened to emerge. As he relaxed from the fight, taking in a deep breath, Sylar felt something warm and tingly on his forehead and then with very little grace, phased through part of the glass window and fell on the floor, landing hard on his stomach.

He rubbed his head where it had hit the floor and suddenly recalled a man in Vegas, a dissected brain and that wonderful phasing ability. Sylar laughed to himself, having completely forgotten he possessed this ability. The laughing broke whatever part of his brain had been subconsciously focusing on moving through the glass. He could feel the psychic hole he'd made in the glass starting to close and quickly pulled the rest of his body through, landing in a heap in the middle of the hallway.

He rolled over on his back, laughing over his success. It had taken so little, after fighting so hard all he needed to do was relax and let nature take over. Before he could celebrate further, sirens started blaring, filling the compound with light and noise. Shifting to his bare feet swiftly, Sylar chose a direction and started running. He wasn't going to let them put him back in that cage. Never again.

Following the next corridor, Sylar made a right turn. There were more holding cells here, all of them empty except for one. Stopping short, he caught his breath as he studied the small figure inside. She was all alone, huddled in the corner of her cage, dirty hair hanging loosely around her face. There was something wrong here, something very wrong about this whole place. Something that called out to him, to Gabriel, to fix it, to restore it as he had once restored timepieces.

His memory flashed back to a time when his mother was still alive, when they had argued over one of his father's antique wooden clock. He could remember himself telling her something and in the present, he mouthed the words again, "It's a beautiful piece. It just needs a little attention."

The figure shifted, pulling her hair away from her face and turned to look up at him. Those big doe eyes, the fair skin and blond hair. He took a step forward, startled by this vision from the past, the last person he expected to run into here. "Claire?!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself short when she noticed the sirens and saw the blinking lights. Like a deer in headlights, Claire appeared to be realizing the situation for the first time. It was like she was coming back to reality, or rather, back from trying to block reality out.

"It's really you, isn't it?" He asked, surprised at how different she looked. He almost left her there. It was survival of the fittest after all and Sylar needed to get out of there if he was going to survive. Footsteps were coming from down the hall, loudly marching after him. He could hear a clock ticking the seconds away; there was no time to lose.

Then she nodded, sadly and silently, and Sylar knew he couldn't turn away. He sighed, thrusting out his hand to do some sort of damage, though he wasn't sure what he should be expecting. Nothing moved, not by phasing or by telekinesis or any other power he might have had at one point in his life.

He growled, disappointed with how rusty his abilities had gotten over the past few years. Then Sylar looked back, hoping to find something more mundane to crack this cage open. That was when he saw a nearby fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. It only took a moment to retrieve it and return to her window.

"Back up!" He shouted as he brought the metal of the extinguisher crashing into the glass, shattering it into a million pieces. It wasn't as spectacular as breaking it with superpowers, but it did the job.

Claire ducked to avoid the spray of glass and when it was over, stood there with a myriad number of questions written on her face. Before Sylar could explain his actions, either to her or to himself, he swooped in and grabbed her tiny wrist, hauling her out of there. She had gotten skinny, too skinny. Pushing her in front of him, Sylar commanded, "Run." She was too startled to do much of anything, so he tried again, "Go. Now!"

At that, Claire finally started moving, working her way through the corridors like she'd been there forever and knew every inch of the place. He'd heard that some of the company's 'guests' were taken out for walks every few months. It was their reward for cooperating and it seemed Claire had been one of these good little girls. A few more turns and they stood at the exit, the door he'd dreamt about walking through so many times.

"Locked?" He half-asked and half-stated, while panting. They were so close, he could already savor the taste of freedom. His advanced hearing was picking up the sound of security guards, at least a half dozen of them, following closely behind.

She nodded, again not speaking, after shoving her body into the door, pushing on it as hard as possible. They were stuck between an unmovable door and lots of men with big guns. This was not good.

Sylar closed his eyes, focusing all his energy on blowing the door off its hinges. Adrenaline was seeping through every pore of his body, clearing out the last of the poison and building new resources of power. Beads of sweat appeared at his brow as Sylar attempted to work his telekinesis. His hands shook, thrust out in front of him as his face scrunched up tightly, the forewarned headache finally hitting hard.

It had to work. They didn't have a choice. It was this or live the rest of their lives trapped down here, in the world of the morally gray and obviously soulless. Metal scraped against metal, the door frame shaking and shuddering, until it finally moved quicker and easier.

"Open sesame," He said, enjoying the sweetness of those words as he opened his eyes to watch the door fly off its hinges and into the yard. Sunlight poured into the doorway and every ounce of pain in his body was forgotten. As he stepped into it, Sylar felt himself warmed right down to his toes. He shot a wicked smile at Claire, "I guess I'm back in the game. Let the fun begin."

..to be continued..


	2. Chapter 2

The road sign up ahead said Odessa was coming up, only ten more miles down the same highway they'd been following for the past few hours. Sylar would be able to find food there, along with clothes and a new direction to follow. The only question in his mind was would Claire make it there. Despite her regenerative abilities, she looked half-starved and emaciated.

She was slowing him down. He wished he could allow himself to let her go, break this weird connection that was starting to form between them and head out on his own. It would be simpler. It would be something Sylar would have done in the past.

A mechanical noise blocked out his thoughts. A van coming from the direction they'd been walking. It was close, right over the horizon. Sylar looked back down the road, wondering why it was that he hadn't heard it before. His advanced hearing should have picked up the sound of its engine miles ago.

"Come here," He gestured, quickly breaking away from the road and starting down a nearby gully. They wouldn't be crossing the bridge up ahead, not yet. Not with that van following. Fortunately, there was an overpass they could hide under until it went away. "I don't think it'll see us down--"

Sylar trailed off, his sentence cut off by Claire's frightened silence. She was too busy starring at the sight of the approaching van to hear him. There was a look of horror in her expression, a fear built into her through years of testing and training. The van was painted black, with completely tinted windows. Sylar realized she had good reason to be scared. That same van, or one much like it, had been there when he'd been taken prisoner.

"Primatech." Her voice was so quiet, Sylar wouldn't have been able to pick up the whisper without advanced hearing. Everything slowed around her as Claire found herself caught like a deer in headlights, until he forced time back into overdrive again.

"Claire, come on, we have to hide. Now." Sylar pointed down the gully, under the bridge to what he hoped was beyond the sight of the vehicle. When she failed to move, only letting out a startled squeaking noise that was like chalk on a chalkboard as his superhearing started working again, his annoyance only escalated.

He shot a look at the van, then at Claire. Then, wasting no time, he ran over to her, wrapped one hand tightly on her mouth and one arm around her waist. Carrying her off the road, Sylar jumped down the gully and into the river, water splashing up around the two of them.

Under the bridge, he whispered to her, "Will you be quiet? They'll be gone soon."

This did nothing to calm Claire. She shook while the van came closer on the road, like an animal that had been badly mistreated. Sylar held her pressed up against him, willing her to be quiet. They didn't come this far to be caught only a few hours later. He knew he shouldn't have been traveling with this girl. She was only going to get the both of them killed.

The van bumped onto the bridge, over their heads and Sylar closed his eyes. He counted to himself, in order to pass the agony of that moment. One, two.. the van was right on top of them now.. three, four.. Claire was shuddering against him.. five, six.. he could feel her tears falling on his hand that was still clasped over her mouth.. seven, eight.. he thought the van was stopping and prayed that he was wrong.. nine, ten.. and it was finally gone, heading away from them again. They were in the clear.

"See? They're gone. You can stop your bitching now." He clipped his words, anger masking his own fear. He loosened his grip on her and Claire relaxed against him, quiet once more. The tension in his muscles slowly dissipated, easing out of his shoulders and back as he sighed in relief. That had been a little too close. "Let's stay down here until we're sure they're not coming back."

Claire nodded, agreeing as the river soaked her pants up to her knees. They'd survived, for now at least.

* * *

"What's your story?" Sylar asked her, filling the silence of the dusty Texan roadside with the sound of his voice. He prodded her for answers, even though she'd only spoken one word since their escape. Primatech. That was about the extent of their conversation so far. It was getting to be late afternoon, judging by the sun and he was getting tired of her tight-lipped attitude. 

He didn't expect her to say much, but he still couldn't help picking her brain for knowledge; partly because he wanted dirt on the company and partly simply because he was bored. "How did they catch you? Did they come in the night, steal you out of your bed, away from your sweet little family? Or did Nathan sell you to them. A pretty little science experiment for them to toy with would fetch some nice pocket change for his next presidential campaign."

She stared at him for a moment, bewildered and gathered her voice. "My father's dead." Her words seemed to startle her, the memories alone frightening her. Then, changing topics completely, Claire asked, "Why did you rescue me?"

He thought a moment. There was no logic in his actions, no reason for his behavior, no biological imperative to explain this away. Still, that word was out there in the open now, for the both of them to think over.

_Rescue._

He wasn't a rescuer, he didn't fit the hero role. If there was one thing Chandra had taught him, it was that. Sylar answered as truthfully as he knew how, "I don't know."

"It wasn't so long ago you were trying to split my head open and rip my brain apart."

The rocks of the pebbled road bit into his bare feet. Dust settled where he walked, his shadow falling behind him in the midday sun. "It was a whole other lifetime ago, Claire." He watched her, wondering how long she had been down in that complex. Her skin had grown pale and ashen, while her weight dropped considerably, dangerously so. "I was.. different. Maybe. I don't know." He couldn't quite figured out how much of his old persona existed within him or whether a new balance had been found. "Maybe I saw what evil really looked like, what it did to people, how it made them feel small.."

Claire nodded, suddenly understanding. No matter how different their pasts might have been, who had played the hero or who had been the villain, there were some things they both shared. As fresh tears started falling from her eyes, she grew dizzy and put a hand to her head.

"Claire?" Sylar cautiously asked. Then, as he watched her fall heavily to the ground, his voice rose in volume. "Claire?!"

He rushed to her side, all the while telling himself he was stupid to care so much about someone else. He wanted to leave her there, wanted to walk away and forget about this moment of insanity where he had tried to do the right thing. He knew he should keep going, to the next town and onward to continue the murder spree the company had disrupted years ago.

Nevertheless, Sylar found himself testing her pulse and then her breathing. Back when he began acquiring new powers, Sylar read volumes on how the human body worked in order to start fixing himself and jumpstart the evolutionary process. Coupled with his eidetic memory, it made him a decent doctor, good enough for emergencies at least.

When her vitals checked out, he picked her up in his arms and began carrying her, silently promising to get her to safety and hating himself every minute for doing so. The two sides of his personality battled within him during the long walk to town, neither winning for very long.

..to be continued..


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's been leaving me feedback! I appreciate the time spent to send me your comments.

* * *

"Home, sweet home. At least until I can hijack a car and get us the hell out of Primatech-town." Sylar tossed Claire's unconscious dead weight unceremoniously onto the hotel bed. At first, he thought of taking her to a hospital, to get a thorough examination but the realization that Primatech was probably watching for any signs of the two travelers in official paperwork killed that idea. They had to stay under the radar, remaining hidden until it was safe to come back out again. If that day every arrived.

Thankfully, she'd opened her eyes for a few moments once they got into Odessa and mumbled something he couldn't quite grasp. It was enough for Sylar to tell that she was going to be all right. He ascribed her condition to the stress of escaping the compound and walking too long in the Texas heat. Maybe he'd pushed her too hard, cut down too close to the bone with his comments earlier. Oh well, she'd just have to get used to him because Sylar sure as hell wasn't going to change for this girl.

He collapsed onto the bed beside her, completely exhausted. Sylar had carried her the whole way to a hotel in Odessa, rocks digging into his toes the whole way. The really fun part was explaining to the hotel staff why he was lugging her nearly comatose body around. The looks and stares he received from the tourists who were milling around in the lobby were enough to remind him of the scientists back at the company, just minus the clipboards and note taking.

He spilled out explanations. A little too much drink at a party, she'd be fine.. excuses, excuses.. but they seemed to work. Sometimes he was surprised at what a good liar he could really be. The staff was even nice enough to arrange for him to get a room right away and handle the paperwork connected with checking in later. Gotta love those hospitable Texans. Perhaps that was only to get him and comatose girl out of the lobby though, away from the other guests who were starting to whisper.

It was much easier this way, since he had no forms of identification on him anyway. That was the next order of business, he mused as he rubbed his eyes and sat up on the bed. They would need money and false identification. The best way to go about producing these things would be to mug someone off the streets. He flexed his hand, feeling his powers as they laid dormant within him. "Someone's going to get a nasty little surprise tonight."

Claire snored away on the bed, making him grimace. Why did all his traveling companions have to snore? First Mohinder, then Alejandro and now Claire. At least it was more proof to the fact that she would be okay. She was just tired, but then weren't they all. Tired of this life and these people in it, tired of so many things.. but he would make it right for them.

He stopped in mid thought, wondering how and why Claire had become a part of his plans. She was right. It wasn't so long ago he'd been trying to take her brain and destroy her life. He stood up, eager to leave all of a sudden. There were things in this room he didn't want to think about, things in his life that he tried his best to push away. Before he left, he whispered to a sleeping Claire, "It's probably best if I just go do what I'm good at. I'll be back when I'm done destroying the city."

* * *

Standing in the shadows, the night cast over the quiet city streets, Sylar stood waiting for the first easy mark. It had been long since he had killed anyone but he figured it was like riding a bike, once you learned how it became second nature. Anticipation caused adrenaline to rush through his veins like a drug, energy primed and ready for the target to arrive. 

A man stepped out of a bar down the street, wobbling on his tall, thin legs. Already drunk and disoriented, he would be a good place to begin again and restore the wave of killing that was cut short years earlier by the company. Someone called out from the bar a warning and Sylar paused to listen. "Make sure you take a taxi home, John."

There were no taxis around and relatively few people, just that one dive of a bar. Sylar smiled to himself as he analyzed his opponents strengthens and weaknesses, finding more of the latter. This would be too easy. He started trailing in the man's wake, never getting too close until he noticed a back alleyway.

He flicked his hand, sending the drunk sailing into the alleyway, crashing into a pile of trashcans. After years of lying awake in the company, dreaming of the moment when he would kill again, this where it would all start. After making sure they hadn't been seen and no one would be coming to this man's rescue, Sylar followed him into the alleyway.

Excited by the prospect of finally being able to do some damage, Sylar's powers danced in his mind, ready to play. The man tried to scramble to his feet, but Sylar reached out his hand, grabbing him by an unseen force. Slamming the dunk into the building wall, he said, "Here's the deal, John. You have money. I need money. I'm going to kill you for it and you're going to die."

"Who-- who are you? One of Tony's boys? He said I could have two more weeks.. with interest." John seemed oblivious to the fact that he was now suspended in midair. Nevertheless, his fear was palpable, sending the hairs on Sylar's neck straight upward in a delightful manner. They were coming to his favorite part.

"Tony's the least of your problems." Sylar held up his index finger, the gesture practiced and easy. No amount of time spent locked up could destroy all of his instincts. "The name Sylar should be the one you hear in your nightmares. The one that wakes you up screaming."

The first mark was made. An incision at the side of John's neck dripped red liquid, the blood beginning to flow from the wound. A bit more and Sylar would be cutting into the carotid artery and adding one more person to the list of those he had murdered. A scream bubbled up from John's throat but soon faded into a low whimper. Sylar's powers failed in mid action leaving both of them surprised.

While Sylar could still hold him pinned up against the wall, he couldn't get his finger to slice the man's neck. He flexed his hand, willing his powers to work and curious that they weren't.

Sylar attempted to bring his powers out once more, sticking his finger out again. John shut his eyes but reopened them when nothing happened. Sylar starred at his hand like it was a foreign object, "What the--?" At that moment, the rest of his telekinesis failed. "What's going on?!"

John noisily dropped down on his ass, falling on top of the wooden crates that lined the alleyway. "Hey, man, whatever you're on.. I don't want any part of it. I'm-- I'm gonna go now," He scrambled to his feet, inching away from Sylar. He held up his hands signaling that he didn't want to fight. It didn't really matter what he wanted at this point. "If that's okay with you, I mean.."

He stumbled away, getting only about two feet before the drink from that night caught up with him, making him dizzily bump into a dumpster. He moaned, whether it was from the pain of falling into the large metal box or the knowledge that he wasn't going to leave this alleyway intact.

Sylar caught him by the back of his shirt, "I don't know what's going on with my powers, but you are not getting away that easy."

He'd killed people without his powers before. Back when he was plain, old watchmaker Gabriel and Brian Davis came into his shop seeking a cure for his telekinesis. Or when Candice had been stupid enough to try to force an alliance with him.

"This isn't as fun, but it'll do." Sylar pushed the man against the dumpster, bashing head against metal. He grabbed John's coat, repeatedly slamming him into the metal until the back of his scalp started bleeding. Eventually, he stopped, letting John fall to the ground. The man brought his hand to the back of his head, pleading incoherently.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you'll have to speak a little louder." The man lay there begging for his life, which only amused Sylar all the more. Sylar kicked him in the stomach, breaking ribs with the force of his boot. "I can't understand a word you're saying."

Little by little, he snuffed out the man's life, beating him until John collapsed in unconsciousness. All the rage he'd felt those past years, stuck in that cell without the usual release of murder, fueled his rampage. Humanity had taken years out of his life and this was payback for their species.

When there was little sign of life left, Sylar bent down. Rifling through John's jacket, with his hands covered in blood, Sylar retrieved his wallet. He flipped through the photos, finding pictures of a little girl and an older woman, with John standing with his arms around both of them. "So, you had a family, did you?" He glanced down at the corpse, which still smelled of whiskey. "If it's any consolation, this is probably for the best. They don't have to deal with your drunk ass anymore."

He pulled out a driver's license, checking to see what name he would be using from now on. John Tyson. It wasn't bad, but it still didn't have the name ring to it that 'Sylar' did. When you're on the run you had to make all sorts of little compromises. Lastly, he pulled out a few hundred dollars, surprised the man had that much on him, what with his debt to Tony and drinking habit.

Sylar took the id card and the money, tossing the rest of the wallet into the dumpster. He didn't even bother cleaning up the scene or moving the body. He left it there to rot and turn to food for the rats and mice that ran abundant through this part of the city. Once Sylar figured out what was wrong with his powers, the rest of the world wouldn't be able to touch him.

"Bye, John." Before he left the alleyway, Sylar smiled a twisted little smile. The corpse starred up at the sky, eyes still open, as if it was waiting to be delivered by God himself. There was no god here, only a killer touched by evil. "Thanks for the loan. The money will certainly come in handy."

..to be continued..


	4. Chapter 4

Claire yawned and stretched, savoring the experience of waking up in a comfortable bed in a safe environment. Even in her barely awakened state, she could tell a big difference between these surroundings and those that had made up her sole existence for too many years.

Gone were the hard prison bunks, with the cheap blankets that could barely keep a person warm that the company always stocked their cells with. Instead, she laid there relishing the feeling of soft cotton sheets and feather pillow, along with the fresh breeze that came through the slightly opened window. It smelled like cut grass and neighborhood barbecues; it smelled like her childhood home.

Not wanting to move for fear that this may be another one of her dreams, Claire starred out the window at the little puffs of clouds dotting the sky and relaxed into her pillow. Almost once a week, while she was down in the compound and the blue sky was nothing more than a fairy tale she barely remembered, Claire would dream of how things could have turned out, how they should have.

In these dreams, Nathan could still be alive to win his presidential campaign, her father still around to protect her, everyone and everything she cared about would still be in her life and she wouldn't be stuck behind four solitary walls or subjected to daily endurance tests. For two long years, she lived from dream to dream only to awake each day to the all-to-real nightmare.

Now she was finally waking up.

It wasn't a perfect world she was returning to though. Nathan was still gone. Her father too. The only constant from her life pre-Primatech and post-Primatech was Sylar and even he was different. Before he only sought to kill her, wanting her brain to usurp her powers of rapid cell regeneration. Then he rescued her, helped her, which was possibly the strangest thing that had happened to her in some time now.

Claire sat up in bed, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. He had no reason to help her and it certainly wasn't in his personality to do so. It didn't make sense. She doubted it ever would. Claire doubted much of anything would ever make sense again. The world had turned over one night, twisting everything until it was all upside down, never to be righted again.

Back in the present, she surveyed her surroundings, still unsure where she was exactly or why she'd been left here alone. Claire was in hotel room, that much was clear by the tacky wallpaper and the room service menu. She couldn't remember how she got there though. The last thing she seemed to recall was passing out in the middle of the road and someone standing over her.

Her feet felt for the floor, plush carpet cushioning her feet instead of cold, cement that Claire's become accustomed to in the company. Standing up, Claire found that she was still feeling weak and the room sometimes seemed to move on its own, creating a strange vertigo. Her regeneration powers had been failing for the past few months after having been pushed to the limit too many times. Maybe, given enough time, they would be up to the level they once were, at least she hoped so.

Walking across the floor, Claire stopped and starred at the mirror that hung on the far wall. Her eyes were sunken and underlined with dark circles, though the creepiest thing was the way the light in them seemed to diminish with age. Where once an energy and fire lit up her blue eyes, there was only a hallow shell of her former self. She ran a hand through her limp hair, embarrassed by the fact that it hadn't been washed in a few days now. Her fingers ran along her lips, the ever present bright smile having since been replaced by the serious expression of someone too young to have experienced what she lived through. She wasn't looking at herself anymore. This was the face of the girl the company broke.

Claire pulled back her fist and then smashed it into the mirror, shattering the image, breaking it into a thousand pieces, each one reflecting another break in her heart and in her soul. She rubbed her hand, watching as it bled and then waiting patiently for it to knit itself back together again. It took longer than it used to before but it still healed faster than a normal human's healing speed.

As the day went on and the sun began to sink a little in the sky, Claire began to get worried. She'd been there for a few hours now, long enough to take a shower and watch some reruns of old tv shows, but no one had come for her yet. She thought about calling the hotel operator, to ask who the room was registered to. It couldn't be Sylar, she told herself. Even after rescuing her from the company, Claire doubted he would care enough to actually spring for a place to stay.

Maybe it was the company. Maybe they finally caught up with them, capturing them both and securing her at the hotel until they could bring her back to the compound. If that was what was going on, Claire wasn't going to give up so easily. They were going to have to drag her corpse back to Primatech because she would never go there, willingly without fighting, never again. They had broken their promise the last time she gave them what they wanted.

She ducked out into the hallway for a moment, testing whether there were locks on the doors or guards standing sentinel outside her room. Rushing outside the hotel room Claire circled and saw that there was no one out there. It didn't stop her from worrying. There was an anxiety that clung to her every waking moment these days. Claire was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the next bout of torture to begin.

Stepping back inside the room, Claire began to pace in a long line from one side to the other. It was the only thing to do when she got like this, the only thing that helped calm her a little. Walking back and forth, Claire made footprints on the newly vacuumed carpet, finding the feeling of the softness of the rug beneath her feet almost heavenly.

She got to the other side of the room and turned to notice the doorknob as it started turning, alerting her attention. Claire halted in her tracks, racing to the desk to pick up a nearby lamp. This was it. She was ready. If a fight was needed to keep her from getting dragged back to hell, she was determined to unleash all the fury contained within her small frame. She hid behind the door and waited, holding her breath.

The door opened and a man in a baseball cap stepped across the threshold. Claire stepped out from her hiding spot and swung full force, almost smashing the lamp into his skull. Her hand stopped in midair, held in place by telekinesis. It was only then that Sylar removed his cap, giving her a smirk and effortlessly returning the lamp to the table with a wave of his finger. "You don't really want to do that to the person who went out and bought you lunch, do you?"

"Lunch?" She dropped her defense and her stomach growled a bit, lured into action by the smell of the food coming from the bag he was carrying. Sylar chucked it at her, still a little pissed at her near-attack. "Where did you get money to get lunch?" She peeked in the bag. "It's not brains is it?"

"Why does everyone think I eat brains?" Sylar plopped onto the desk chair. "Seriously, what is up with that?" He shook his head, as Claire sat across from him on the bed. He was dressed in new clothes, not the basic white shirt and white pants the company dressed freaks like them in. "I may have accidentally mugged someone earlier today and stolen their money and identification. I hope I haven't offended your delicate rich girl sensibilities."

"Whoever said.. anything about.. being rich?" Claire said between devouring the hamburger Sylar purchased for her. It was the first good meal she'd eaten in what seemed like forever. After taking some huge mouthfuls, Claire remembered just how much she missed fast food, even with all its greasy trans carbs. "My father was middle class; a respectable paper salesman."

"Paper salesman?" Sylar laughed. "Is that what he told everyone?"

"It was a decent excuse. It kept things hidden." Back in high school, Claire didn't fully understand the sacrifice her whole family made for her by maintaining their cover story. Her father dressed up and went to his boring paper salesman job, day after day, all for her. It was the only thing that gave her a normal life, for the few short years that she did lead one. "Unfortunately, the lie couldn't last forever."

"What happened to him?"

Claire shoved another bite of hamburger into her mouth, too hungry to stop and too scared to bring up memories from years ago. She wasn't sure whether she could talk about the past without breaking more. Least of all with Sylar. The man was probably still clinically psychotic.

He was watching her though, peering into her silence with an unending stare. She wondered if he'd ever stolen the power of telepathy; if Sylar could look in and read her very mind if she didn't produce the answer he was searching for. She glanced away but could still feel him waiting for an answer.

"He died, okay?" She shot him a look. "Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? He died protecting me from those monsters when they came to bag and tag me. He stepped in front of one of their bullets. I could have regenerated from that. I could have survived, but he.." There was a franticness in her voice, like a trapped animal as the past was brought up. She dropped the last bit of hamburger back into the bag, no longer hungry. Claire could feel the need to pace again but instead, she sat there, wringing her hands and hating herself for babbling on in front of him. "He couldn't live through that. He died and they took me in."

"I'm sorry."

His words almost sounded sincere, but she knew Sylar too well. He wouldn't be sorry for another human's death. Hell, he benefited from quite a few murders committed by his own hands in the past. Claire pushed herself off the bed, away from their conversation and shot back. "Oh, fuck you. Don't you dare tell me you're sorry, or that you care, or that you're having any sort of human feelings at all. Don't think I don't know that you tried to kill him a few times before."

"That was different, Claire." He kept his anger in check, though it was starting to leak out. "I told you I was a different person back then."

She stopped, leaning against the wall. That sorry had been real, she knew, but why was it coming from him? Claire slid down the length of the wall, coming to rest on the floor beside it. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She sighed and rubbed her head with her hands, feeling a headache growing.

"Maybe. Maybe we all were. I still can't trust you," Claire lifted her head, meeting his gaze, "but you're all I have, aren't you?"

"Not unless you want to go back to Primatech and have them cut into you again. I'm sure that was real fun." He was growing tired of arguing with her, but couldn't resist one last dig. Sylar let that sink in, the truth neither of them could hide. Then, when the tension in the room dissipated, he prodded for more information. "What happened to the rest of them?"

She shrugged. "My mother and brother were both killed during the same attack. When they captured me and took me out of my house, no one was left alive. And Nathan was killed one year before I got taken away. It ironically had nothing to do with his powers or the company, at least not if the news can be believed. Some political competitors saw him as too much of a threat. I'm still not sure whether that was a cover-up or not. I guess it's too late now and the trail's gone too cold to figure it out now."

Claire paused, the last death the most painful to talk about. "Peter died one year after I was in the compound. They came and told me that if I submitted to their demands, they would let him go. For months I did exactly what they wanted, followed every rule, never tried to break out. Then they came and told me they'd killed him. The guy even had a big smile on his stupid, fucking face when he said it too. It was too late though. I had already been broken. I never fought back after that." She paused, meeting his eyes. "Not until you came along."

Sylar nodded slowly, understanding how Primatech enjoyed breaking their captives all too well. For himself, it had been a slow, subliminal process but by the end he was jumping through their hoops just the same as Claire. He'd gotten them both out though, which was the important thing.

This was no consolation to Claire, however, as she punched the floor with her hand. Her emotions were starting to spring forth, unwanted yet not wavering. "Why didn't I fight back? I could have done something.. anything.. I let them all get killed and it's my fault. I was supposed to be the indestructible one, goddamn it. If I had done something Peter and the rest would still be alive!"

Claire crossed her arms and rested them on her knees, leaning her head against her wrists. She hated Sylar for many reasons, though the main reason at the moment was his insistence on drudging up bad memories. She'd been keeping it bottled up for so long now, never letting the company see how much they hurt her. She went through their exercises, did what they wanted but never let them see the pain that was buried inside.

Now that she was finally talking about everything, she wasn't sure she could stop, or whether she would be in one piece when she finally calmed down again. She shut her mouth tight, unwillingly to say anything more on the topic. If she kept up this conversation, Claire knew it wound only end with her in tears.

"There's no evidence that he's not alive," Sylar ventured. She picked her head up, a frown full of disbelief settling on her face. This wasn't what she wanted to hear, not false hope or denials. She'd tried that tactic before and it never worked. "Primatech said if I cooperated, they had someone who could bring people back from the dead and they would use them to bring back my mother. They never kept their side of the bargain."

"Obviously not. They're Primatech, they don't have to keep to their side of the deal." The bitterness in her melted but her stance on the matter did not yield. Shaking her head, Claire continued, "But I would know if he was still out there. I would feel it. I'm not giving in to delusions that he might still be alive. I can't do that anymore."

"So, you'd rather sit in your self pity and wallow there?" He asked sharply. Sylar couldn't stop himself from returning to his original idea, piecing together vague things he'd heard and seen in the compound those last few years. He might have been looking for something that wasn't there, but he refused to let go of this crusade. "I remember picking up rumors of someone escaping the company. Maybe that was him."

"No! I can't listen to this anymore!" Claire shouted back, brushing away tears as she grew angrier. This was not the time to take the advice of a madman. "I cared about Peter, but he's gone now and nothing can ever bring him back again."

"I'm trying to help you, Claire. Isn't that what you want? Or do you want to stay in the same hole the company put you in?" Sylar did not like being ignored. People had been doing that to him since he was born. They pushed him aside, like his ideas were insignificant, like he was insignificant. The room around him began to shake, as power welled up within him, sending his telekinesis out of control. His uncontrollable anger brought forth a mini-earthquake that Sylar seemed completely unaware of in the middle of his rant. "You're free now, you might as well start acting like it. Or are their walls still closing in on you, even now?"

Claire dodged flying debris, as the earthquake turned into a tornado.

Only when he was finished with his tirade, could Sylar notice the sudden turmoil of flying objects his anger caused. He followed the levitating telephone with his eyes before almost getting hit by a remote control that was passing by his head. Lost and confused, he stormed out of the hotel room and slammed the door behind him without saying another word. Claire jumped at the abruptness of his departure.

As soon as Sylar left, all the movement in the room came to a halt. Various objects fell from the air, laying still on the floor and bed. Once again the room was still and Claire was alone. She didn't want to be, there was too much to think over. There was some truth to his words. She could feel those walls he spoke about, even now pressing in on her, though she hated to admit it.

Life was really fucked up when psychotic, homicidal manics could turn out to be right.

..to be continued..


	5. Chapter 5

Before the night when Primatech took him into custody, life for Sylar was so much more simple and loads more entertaining. Find a victim, kill them, take their abilities and then use those to destroy more pathetic souls who couldn't handle their own power. It was a circular process, but his entrance into the company's underground world cut that cycle short. Now he was the one who couldn't control his gifts.

Stepping off the elevator, fresh from his fight with Claire, he shot sideways glares at the other tourists on the first floor. He wanted to break this world apart and watch it crumble before him. Sylar clenched his hands into fists, then stretched his fingers out again. Power traveled from the tips of his fingers up through his arms. Marching through the hotel lobby, he waved a hand at the door leading out to the street, throwing it open with such force its glass threatened to break. That was control, of a sort.

What happened back in the hotel room still bothered him. He couldn't explain the sudden release of unwanted telekinesis. Anger had always been the hardest of his emotions to suppress. It fed him, sustained him through life's trials. It pushed him forward most times but right now it was threatening the things he held most important. His powers.

It had been nearly two days since Sylar last received an injection at Primatech. He hoped with enough time the effects of the drug would dissipate. As time wore on, he began to worry that his abilities were going to be screwed up indefinitely. He shot a small ball of radioactivity out his hand, playing with the energy while testing himself.

An woman stepped into the lobby with a small child in tow. Sylar thought she might have seen the ball of energy he was playing with because she suddenly grabbed for the child's hand. In a demanding, yet protective, tone she whispered to her son. "Come here, Michael, you stay away from that man."

"That's right, lady, lock up your children and stay inside where it's safe." He said under his breath after catching pieces of her conversation. He hoped that some part of himself was still frightening, still in control. The company couldn't have taken everything from him. Leaving the hotel, he smirked as the woman continued pulling her son away.

After passing a few stores along the busy main street of the city, the only major road of the whole small southwestern city, Sylar felt a headache coming on. His enhanced memory, another stolen power from an unsuspecting source, started acting up. It sent him a memory of another time, another place when he's lost control. In his mind, Sylar could see snowglobes flying, snow falling in the living room and a pair of accusatory scissors.

And then all he saw was blood.

Blood staining his hands red.

His mother's blood, bleeding out of her and covering the floor in apocalyptic designs.

"You're not Gabriel. You're damned. And I want you out of my house." Sylar stopped, gripping the brick wall of a building strong enough to put dents in the stone from a strength so strong no ordinary human could possess it. Nausea washed over him as he heard his mother crying, a memory from across time and space. "I want my son. What did you do with my son? Give me back my boy."

He breathed, seeking control.

What was it in him that insisted on hurting everyone he came in contact with, even his own mother? Was there something in his hardwiring, pieces of his brain that he failed to fix yet? Was it still there, after all this time?

He couldn't tell who he was anymore, where Gabriel stopped and Sylar began. That line was always a tough distinction to draw, even before being subjected to Primatech's control.

Letting his emotions settle back down, Sylar traced one finger down the wall he was leaning against, leaving a finely drawn frost mark with his cryokinesis. When he was done, the shape of a double helix was left on the wall, frozen over like ice. Curious, he traced one more on top of it, going the other direction, with the same frost inducing finger. A double helix. Two sides of the same whole. Gabriel and Sylar.

He was content to leave that mark there, until his hand touched the wall again and he involuntarily froze the whole wall. A sheet of snowy frost spread over the brick, covering over the double helix and drawing attention from the crowd on the street. Sylar backed away, unable to explain it to them and unsure why he felt he needed to anyway.

Some kid on a skateboard surveyed the effects of his cryokinesis and then stopped to ask, "Dude, that's awesome. How did you do that?"

For a moment, Sylar was about to launch into a speech about how he was special and how it came naturally to him. This was not the time to be special though. Not while people were beginning to gather to witness his work, making him all the more uncomfortable. The company could be out there, waiting to take him in. He furrowed his dark brows, backing away. "It was nothing, really."

He mumbled something about physics and his hands being really cold or something, anything to get away from the encroaching crowd. Once he had gotten a block away without anyone following him, Sylar starred down at his hands. First he'd messed up his telekinesis earlier today and then that scene with the frost. He shook his head, muttering to himself. "This is just a temporary setback. A simple glitch in the system. Easily fixable."

Flicking a finger at a random pedestrian, Sylar attempted to knock her over telepathically. She continued walking down the street, completely unfazed by his show of abilities. He waved his hand at her again, concentrating on feeling the normal surge of strength. Nothing happened.

He walked on until he passed by a park and picked a bench to sit down on. "This can't be happening," He told himself, as if that was enough to stop whatever was going on. Sylar gripped the wood of the bench, eager to grasp onto some sort of reality but it quickly melted under his touch. He jumped up, wiping the liquefied seat off of his hand, suddenly realizing how much of a danger to himself he had become.

Sylar focused on the space between his skull, sensing the veins and gray matter of his brain. What did they give him in the compound? Was this some kind of strange withdrawal from that poison? He closed his eyes, seeking out the broken pieces of his own biological construct.

Instead of finding the answer he sought, Sylar saw a picture flash across his closed eyes. A blond girl, running down a flight of stairs, terrified. When he opened his eyes again, for a moment the world was white. That sensation soon faded away, the whiteness becoming clearer and clearer until he was back in the park once again.

Sylar noticed that his hands left deeply traced lines in the dirt, forming a rudimentary picture of what he'd seen beneath his eyelids. Claire. Being chased. He shot his head up. His own problems could wait, Sylar needed to get back to the hotel as soon as possible.

* * *

"In breaking news, President Walker will be attending a seminar on--" The television in the hotel room blared as Claire switched through the channels, searching for something familiar. Everything had changed. She felt like she was waking up from a coma, suddenly thrust into a new and foreign world. If someone had asked her who the president was or even the month and year, she wouldn't have known how to answer. Things like those didn't matter in Primatech.

She switched on a music channel which was neither the MTV or VH1. It was some station she'd never heard before, probably one that began broadcasting during her years in captivity. It was playing some sort of top songs of the nineties marathon. She found a comfortable familiarity with the oldies. They made her think of happier days, far away in a life that didn't exist anymore.

"I'm still recalling things you said to make me feel alright. I carry them with me today now," Claire sang along with the television, giving her voice some much needed practice. Every time she spoke after leaving the company, it felt like she was breaking some rule and caused her to wonder if she should give words to her thoughts at all.

In Primatech, the inmates weren't allowed to speak back, not unless they wanted to be drugged or beaten or undergo a million other things the company did to keep them submissive. After this understanding grew in her, Claire gave up trying to speak up, giving all the say over her life up to those who controlled her fate. Even after all this time, she still feared their rule and could still feel their cage around her. Sylar was right about that.

While listening to the music, Claire walked around the hotel room, idly wondering what to do next. She perused the emergency exit rules and then the room service menu, which she couldn't order from because Sylar had all the money anyway. She couldn't tell if he was coming back. He'd been gone for an hour now and the threat of being left here, all alone, loomed over her head.

There was far too much bad blood between them in the past to suddenly be allies. No matter what happened in the company, no matter how much he helped her or how much she now missed him. He was trouble, trouble she was content to do without for the time being. At least, that's what she told herself as the time went on and he didn't return.

Claire dared herself to take a look in the mirror again. Her frown grew deeper every time she looked in that damn thing but she tried to pull the corners of her mouth into a smile. Straightening up her normal outfit of white pants and white shirt, donated to her by the company, she felt completely out of her league.

Where was she going to go? What was she going to do with the rest of her life? These were questions that, for two long years, didn't even occur to her. Nor did they need an answer if they did cross her mind. All her choices were made for her, from what she would wear to her daily schedule to whether she would even be alive the next morning. Having that much power back in her hands was at times exhilarating but mostly terrifying.

The phone rang, causing her to jump nearly right out of her skin. She froze in front of the mirror listening to it ring from across the room. Still new to this game of playing hide and seek with the company and fearing for her life, she debated answering it. When it rang for the third time, crept over to the phone. She placed her hand on the receiver, listening to her heart beating in her chest and then picked it up.

"Hello?" Claire asked, inching her way into conversation like a timid child. With one last glimmer of hope, she asked. "Is this you, Sylar?"

"Claire Bennett." They answered, cold and reserved. "How are you, Subject 126? There are guards waiting down in the lobby for you. Why don't you be a good little girl and come down quietly so we don't have to cause a scene for the nice tourists at this establishment?"

"No! Nononon.. no." She slammed down the phone with a forceful, shuddering hand. They'd found her. Again. A memory from two years ago played in her head. Her father took a bullet for her, killing him instantly. Blood from the bullet wound splattering blood across Claire's prom dress. It was supposed to be one of the best nights of her life but it was the night her old life ended. They couldn't take her again. She wouldn't let them.

..to be continued..


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was bright that afternoon, too bright for the trouble that was swarming within that city. As Sylar neared the hotel, he noticed one of Primatech's nondescript black vans. It bared no markings, no license plates either but there was no mistaking where it came from.

Sylar slowed down and ducked into a nearby Starbucks coffee shop. After running the whole way back to the hotel, he finally took the time to formulate a plan. Through the shop's window, he surveyed the situation. Half a dozen men dressed in business suits exited the van and wasted no time before heading into the same hotel Sylar and Claire were checked into, marching in like they owned the place. It hadn't taken Primatech long to find them.

Well, no, Sylar thought, it hadn't taken them long to find Claire. It would be hard for her to get past them and escape but Sylar, on the other hand, could leave now. He could walk down the street, catch a cab and disappear before Primatech spotted him. He grit his teeth, fighting both the urge to charge in there like the cavalry and the other that told him to clear out and save himself.

He eyed a Starbucks cup, sitting on the counter, waiting to be picked up and paid for by a customer. Calling it over to him by the sheer power of his mind, Sylar watched to see if it would work this time. There was no point rushing into trouble if his powers didn't work anymore.

The cup sailed into his hands easily and he took a sip. The cinnamony cappuccino went down smooth, delighting his taste buds. Sylar wondered idly if he might find someone, someday with an advanced taste power he might be able to steal. Then he remembered some of the meals they had served him while being imprisoned within the company and thought better of that idea.

"Might as well." He shrugged, coming to his decision. As long as he was secure that his powers were working again, at least for time being, there were few people who stood a chance of stopping him from getting what he wanted. Right now, for some reason he couldn't explain, what he wanted was Claire safely and quickly out of that building.

Before leaving the coffee shop, he tossed the paper cup away. It pounded noisily onto the bottom of the trashcan. The door jingled as it open and shut behind him. Determination driving him on, Sylar left and began walking towards the hotel. This was crazy and went completely against his survival instincts but he found himself enjoying every minute of it. He stood outside the hotel for a moment, savoring the calm before the storm.

Then Sylar thrust his hand at the door and it flew off its hinges, coming to a rest sideways on the road a few feet away. Traffic halted and people stopped to stare at the spectacle. They were probably already explaining it away in their minds as a trick of the light or a scene from some movie, though no cameras were around. Ordinary humans, Sylar knew, could create the most elaborate stories to excuse the impossible away and make it somehow probable.

He entered the lobby to find five Primatech guards camped out in the lobby. They all turned as one, alerted to the entrance of a new player in their game. There was no one else to be seen, no employees or guests, which was probably for the best. If they were smart, they'd left once the Primatech squad arrived.

Almost immediately, their guns were pointed at his head. All of them were aiming to shoot; this wasn't a game but it was rather fun nevertheless. Sylar laughed as he found himself questioning whether he was walking into an ambush or had become the ambusher himself. Probably both.

"Gabriel Gray. Stand down." One of them spoke in a commanding tone and Sylar decided that he would be the first to die. The man pointed at him with the gun and then towards the floor. "On your knees, now!"

"I don't think I want to do that." Sylar only scoffed and took a step forward, egging them on. Then he held out his hand, freezing the man who had dared to order him around where he stood. After freezing completely through, the guard fell to the floor with a clunk. One of his arms cracked off when it hit the floor, shattering like an icicle off a building. "See, that's much more enjoyable."

The others cocked their guns, but Sylar was able to hold them off with his telekinesis. The second-in-command raised his voice. No matter how loud his voice got though, it still shook with fear. His troops looked ready to run. "I repeat: Stand down!"

"I've come for the girl," Sylar told them raising his eyes towards the elevators. Claire was up there still and there was no amount of force they could use that would stop him from getting her out. Prepared for a fight, Sylar told them. "I'm not leaving without her."

* * *

With no real plan in her headexcept escape, Claire ran out of her room seconds after receiving the phone call. There was no one on her floor yet but she knew there were guards downstairs waiting for her. She wished she knew how many, though even one was enough to terrify her into action. 

Ducking into the stairwell, she ran up the cold, cement steps, taking them two at a time. Claire was certain that if she could only make it to the roof, she could think up a better plan than waiting until they came to collect her in the hotel room. She wondered if her regenerative powers were good enough to save her life if she jumped off the building. They weren't up to par yet but she couldn't think of any other way out of there.

When Claire climbed two floors up towards the roof, she heard the metal clank of the door on her floor. It opened and shut. Before Claire could move, a man was leaning over the railing, two stories below her, pointing his gun up the stairwell. "We're taking you back into custody. Do not attempt to fight back, as that will only lead to a quite messy, unfortunate death. Do not attempt to talk back to us or give any officer of the company any lip. Anything you say can and will be used against you once we get you back to Primatech."

"Please don't do this," Claire cried as she raised her hands. Even with all her regenerative powers, she still couldn't move once Primatech decided to force their hand. The gun wasn't even the scariest part. It was the way they talked to her, the tone of their voice and the demands they made on her. The man climbed the flight of stairs quickly. When he reached her on the stairs, he pointed to the floor with his gun. She knew the drill. Getting on her knees, Claire held her hands behind her back as he placed the cuffs on her wrists. "I'll do anything you want, but please--"

"Did you _not_ hear the part about not speaking back?" He hauled Claire to her feet, patting her down for weapons of any sort. "Your kind poses a threat to the rest of humanity. What would you think of a person who knowingly let a danger like yourself run around loose instead of locking you up where you belong?"

"I'm not a danger." She shot back, surprising both herself and the guard. Silencing herself, Claire bit her tongue but anger boiled up inside her. She found herself unable to shut up and knew that her insolence was all Sylar's doing. It was that fear of being smothered back inside the mental cage they'd placed around her that caused her to speak up.

He wasted no time and punched her across the face, leaving no bruise as her cheek healed instantaneously. "You are whatever I say you are, do you understand me?" Grabbing her hair, the guard gestured down the stairs. "Now walk! There's a car waiting for us outside. I know you're a smart girl, so let's think about this carefully: there's a large group of innocent bystanders downstairs. I have a gun. I'm not a big fan of collateral damage but if I need to in order to keep the rest of the world safe, I will shoot every single person in this building."

"Is that what you people thought of my mother and my brother? They were only collateral damage?" Claire fought back and dug in her heels, as he prodded her down each step. "They got in the way and the company took them out, just like that?"

"If need be, that's what we do. I am sure in that case, the means justified the ends."

Coming to the end of the staircase, the man opened the door to the lobby, dragging her with him as he entered. Claire pushed into the carpet with her feet and even tried kicking the man a few times in the leg. Nothing slowed him down. Nothing except finding his coworkers dead inside the lobby.

Sylar was standing in the middle of a group of suited guards, all of them sprawled across the floor. The rest of the tourists and hotel employees had already fled the room. He stepped over one of the bodies, a woman he'd killed moments ago. Energy still swirled around his hand as he narrowed his gaze and lowered his voice, "Claire, are you okay?"

Relieved to see the calvary had finally arrived, Claire nodded.

The man held her close to him, tightly pressing the gun to her head. "Don't move, Gabriel, unless you want me to blow her brains out. I don't think she'll be able to regenerate from that." A laugh came from Sylar's side of the room. Then the man's gun jerked away from Claire, resting against the man's own temple. "Wait.. what-- what are you doing?"

"She's just a kid." Sylar eyed him with disgust, "Why don't you go blow your own brains out?"

The shot fired, sending pieces of the man's head across the back wall. Claire screamed, as she felt his hold over her suddenly drop. She looked down at the body of her captor, lying at her feet. It wasn't until Sylar came over and melted the handcuffs that she was able to overcome the shock of the moment.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," She shook, finding comfort as she burrowed herself into Sylar's chest. He wrapped his arms around her. It was only an automatic, involuntary movement, other than that he had no idea what to do with this girl who was now clinging to his waist.

Taking care of someone like this was completely foreign to him. He didn't quite know what to say or how to hold her. He smoothed his hand over her hair, willing the girl to stop crying and tried to find the right words. Her spoke with a voice that seemed to come from someone else. "It's okay, Claire. It's going to be okay."

After a moment, the closeness began to get to him. He wasn't good with gentle things, with tears and that pout her lips went into when they quivered. It was all too confusing and he didn't know how to fix what was broken here, what had broken inside her. Instead, Sylar chose to hide in the more immediate aspects of the moment and the need for action. Eager to be free from the entanglement, Sylar extracted himself from her embrace and prodded, "Come on. We need to leave before the cops show up.. or worse yet, more Primatech employees."

He grabbed her hand and started in the direction of the lobby doors, stepping through pools of blood that leaked from the corpses. One body was pinned to the wall, pencils stuck in him like a corkboard. Another was frozen solid, pieces of his arm and legs crumbling off into icy dust. Yet another two had the tops of their heads removed, brains leaking out like worms from a split tin can. The last had been melted down into a fine goo which Claire was now standing in with her bare feet.

She was still dazed and unyielding, holding him back. She always seemed to be holding him back and for some reason, he always let her. "You killed them. You killed them all, didn't you?"

This was not the reaction he had expected. It caused him to stop in his tracks, yanking his head back to look at her like she had finally lost it. Everything he had done was in her benefit, for her sake even. They would have killed her, or worse.

With a roll of his eyes, Sylar spoke to her like she was a child. "Would you have rather I let them hunt you down and capture you again? Is that what you want-- cause let me know, and the next time someone comes after you, that's what I'll do." She said nothing in reply, so he let the conversation drop. With a light jerk of her hand, he pulled her towards the doors. "Can we go now?"

There was no further discussion on the topic, which was the way Sylar wanted it. What he had done was necessary for his and Claire's survival. No argument anyone could make would make him feel regret for his actions. That was an emotion felt only by weaker members of his species, those that didn't last long in the wild nature of this world.

"Where are we going?" Claire asked as they ran across the road, darting between cars. "Do you even have a plan?"

"I always have a plan, Claire. It's kind of my natural ability." Sylar replied as he stopped in front of a Nissan Rogue that was parked on the side of the road. He brought his hand back and then smashed through it's driver's side window. Reaching through the broken glass, he unlatched the lock. Opening the door, he brushed glass off the seat. The skin around his knuckles was raw and bleeding, but Sylar ignored the pain and let Claire in through the passenger side door.

She hopped into the car, shutting the door quickly behind herself. Meanwhile, Sylar went to work figuring out the mechanics of the car. He broke through a panel of the car near his feet, pulling out different colored wires and cords. This should be like getting a watch to work, making the right pieces fall into place. Touching a red wire to a blue one, Sylar felt the car's engine roll over and its gears working together.

"We'll hit the road, get out of this city and then.." he thought about it for a moment before everything fell into place in his mind. His eyes narrowed as the thought became clearer. "Then I need to visit an old friend."

..to be continued..


	7. Chapter 7

After four hours on the road, they'd stopped in at a quiet town, a sleepy little place west of the Arkansas border. Blue Ridge was a southern town with few roads, more farms and large sycamore trees. They were headed to New York City, though it would take many days to reach that metropolis. The next leg of the trip alone would take fourteen hours and that would only get them as far as Memphis.

For now the driving could wait. Sylar was more focused on the essentials. Claire needed a change of clothes and some shoes, so he lent her some money out of the bit that he stole. He could see in the way that Claire hesitated that she wanted to ask for more details about where he got his supply of cash. The mugging.

After the argument in the hotel, she was careful not to even broach those tougher subjects with him. Her survival instincts kept her quiet because she was helpless without him, a lamb lost in the woods that he could lead to slaughter if he wished. He liked it that way.

They also needed to get some gas for the Rogue, some lunch and a map. Sylar popped into the general store while Claire went off to do her shopping, hoping to kill two birds at the same time. Plus, the last time he went shopping with any woman was back when his mother used to pick out his clothes.

Sylar walked up to the register of the general store, purchases in hand. He rang the bell for the clerk, who was still in the back room taking a break. A small television set was set up on the far end of the counter. A news anchor was sitting behind a desk reading an urgent report in a deadpanned voice.

"These two fugitives are considered armed and dangerous. You should not attempt to apprehend them, or even approach them, if they are spotted. Clear the area and call your local police department if you come in contact with either of them." A news anchor's voiceover played as two police sketches flashed across the screen; one of a young woman with blond hair, the other a man wearing a baseball cap with overly thick eyebrows.

Sylar grimaced. They'd drawn his nose wrong.

Despite his annoyance at their lack of artistic skills, there was still that old thrill creeping into him. They thought he was dangerous, powerful. He'd made it far from the pathetic, meek watchmaker's son. As he caught himself feeling downright gleeful at his murderous past, Sylar was glad Claire was off clothes shopping.

When she look up at him with those deep blue eyes of hers, demanding answers to questions she couldn't ask, all the things he loved in life lost some of their pleasure. The screaming of his victims and the way their blood made designs on the pavement seemed pointless. It was better when she was gone.

The screen changed to show a very blurry image caught on the hotel short-circuit security cam. It was like a scene from a science-fiction movie, with Sylar taking center stage displaying his powers as he destroyed five individuals. They fell before him, no match against his abilities. The fact that this was shown on prime time network news caught Sylar by surprise. Usually, Primatech did everything in their power to keep such things from going public.

"This footage was released to the public following the attack at the Hyatt Hotel. It is unsure whether this scene is a trick of lighting and camera work, or something more unexplainable. At the present time, this tape is being analyzed by experts in both the Odessa police department and various scientists in the--"

Sylar flicked the television off with his mind as the clerk finally returned to the store's counter. She hadn't seen anything on the news, he was positive of that as she smiled at him unsuspectingly. People around here didn't pay much attention to world news. Their view of life never went far beyond the boarders of their small town.

The young lady took her sweet time ringing his things up. He was accustomed to the slow pace of the south, after traveling through there many years ago but he wished she'd hurry. There were still many miles on their trip to travel.

The clerk clicked the keys of the cash register while raising her eyebrows. "Where ya'll from? You don't look like you're from around these parts."

There was no mistaking the challenge in her voice. These small town people were quite clear on the no-freaks-allowed rules. Attempting to avoid her questioning, Sylar replied in a perfect southern accent. "I'm just from da next town over, a few miles east of heer. Thought I'd cume by n see how things were. Been awhile since I've been outside of..." He glanced behind the clerk, where a map of the county hung on the wall. "Maplewood."

"You from Maplewood, then?" She handed him back his change, accepting his answer. "It's a pretty little town; second nicest this side of the Mississippi."

"Dat it is, Ma'am," he tipped his hat to her, grabbed his bag and shoved the money into it. The charade delighted him all the way to the car, putting an extra bounce in his step.

People were easily duped. They could be so easily misled by just the right lie said in the right tone of voice, a fine art he perfected through the ages. He could get them to eat out of his hand until the right time came and he snapped their naive necks.

Lucky for this small town, none of their deaths would aid him in his quest. Claire and Sylar would disappear as silently as they'd arrive. And Blue Ridge would never know what kind of danger lurked in their shops, on their streets and what kind of trouble they'd been saved from.

* * *

Claire was doing her best to finish shopping while simultaneously ignoring the two shop employees that were keeping careful tabs on her. They weren't even very clever about hiding their prying stares. Turning their backs to her, they'd return to talking in hushed tones and leave Claire with the creeping feeling that she was a bug under their microscope.

At first, she thought they were only worried about her stealing something. Claire knew she must look a mess. Even with the shower she'd taken back at the hotel she could probably still be mistaken for a wandering homeless individual. She didn't even have shoes yet, a fact she would soon correct.

She sighed as her ears picked up their conversation. Phrases like 'that girl over there' and 'what is her deal'. It was hard enough picking out clothes that actually fit and facing herself in the mirror after years of abuse, she didn't need these gossiping girls following her around. Memories of high school and Jackie's wannabe-popular hanger-ons rushed back into her mind. Claire couldn't help smiling because for one singular moment, things were almost ordinary.

As she headed into the fitting room, for the umpteenth time, Claire picked up more of their conversation and froze as the tiny bit of normalcy fled. "I'm sure that's da girl. I saw her photo when I was in da electronics store down da road. She's supposed ta be dangerous."

"Did you notice she's not wearin' shoes?" The other pipped in and Claire was certain she should have seen to that part of her wardrobe first. "Don't cha think that's kinda funny?"

Claire ripped off the pink sweater she was trying on, her hair falling down around her face as she took it off. She shoved it into her other shopping bag, the one that held clothes she'd bought at the last store. She needed to leave. Somehow, she had to get back to the car without them seeing her.

She peeked up over the dressing room door, as they turned away to avoid getting caught in the act of watching her stall. Claire popped back down, cursing silently to herself. She knew she shouldn't have taken so much time today. Shopping was a vain luxury she should never have afford herself. Sylar told her to go get the things she needed and hurry back. They should be traveling to Memphis by now.

Claire wanted to pace to clear her head but the dressing room was too small. The walls seemed to be tightening, squishing out all logical thought. She needed a plan, a good one, one that would help her get out of there without the police showing up.

"Is evarything fittin' in there alright, Miss?" A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts of escape, startling her further. Claire backed up against the far wall of the changing room, not trusting her voice not to shake if she said she was fine.

Claire was finally about to squeak out an answer when she heard the sound of the employee being pulled away. The other one whispered to her friend. "Get over heer, Beth. Da news said ta stay away from her until da police arrive. They'll be heer soon."

That was her cue to move.

With no clear idea of what exactly she was going to do, Claire darted out of the dressing room. The two employees jumped. She gave them a wide berth as she ran out of the the clothing store, only stopping to reach out to one of the racks of shoes. It was the last thing on her list of things to buy. She picked them up with one hand, shoving them in the bag of clothes she was already carrying. It was the first time in her life she had ever shoplifted.

Claire rushed across the street, sending cars screeching to a halt as she fled the scene. If any of the cars in traffic hit her, she would regenerate and keep on running. Sirens could be heard in the background, many blocks away. She wasn't sure if those were the ones coming for her or not. She glanced around once to see the employees standing outside the door, watching her leave.

She would always be a freak to ordinary people like these, always starred and pointed at like something not quite human. She would always be either on the run or hiding. She hated it.

* * *

The rattle of the passenger door as Claire banged on it woke Sylar from his sleep. He sat up, pulling the reclining driver's seat of the Rogue back into an upright position. He noticed where the noise was coming from and unlocked the passenger side door.

Claire climbed into the car, throwing a bag of clothes and shoes into the back seat. He watched her as the franticness in her features failed to relax. She was freaked and intended to stay that way. Slamming the door shut, Claire shouted one word at him. "Drive!"

Sylar put the keys in the ignition and the car into gear, not asking questions. He slammed on the gas pedal and jutted out of town. When they got past the main buildings of Blue Ridge and into the outskirts of town, he asked, "What happened back there?"

She stopped checking her rear view mirror and answered. "There were these two girls in the store I was shopping in. They called the police but I ran before they got there. I'm not sure if anyone followed me."

Claire twisted around in her seat, trying to notice if any of the cars behind them looked suspicious. When she was finally content that no one was trailing them and they'd gotten out of town with their freedom still intact, Claire placed her head against the window of the car. "I'm sorry, Sylar. I didn't mean to take so much time. I didn't mean to almost get us caught either. I'm screwing everything up."

"These things happen when you're on the road, Claire. Trust me, I've been hunted a lot longer than you have. Close calls make life interesting." His grin slowly faded when he realized she didn't share his enthusiasm for the chase. "Why don't you take a nap in the back seat? I'll wake you when we get to Tennessee."

She nodded and climbed into the back of the Rogue. The sun was setting and the light fading away. As the day slowly faded into night, Claire began to feel more comfortable in her skin. Escaping that last time gave her the strength to keep on going. Maybe Sylar was right about close calls. The walls around her were slowly breaking away, leaving her with a freedom that was far too sweet not to take a bite from.

...to be continued..


	8. Chapter 8

The road was dark. Only a few car headlights lit the way down the four lane highway. If it could in fact be called a highway. Claire lay on the back seat, letting the white noise of the car's engine relax her and watched the moon up ahead. It was surprisingly cold tonight and a halo hung around the moon. Myths Claire heard long ago said that a halo around the moon meant trouble or snow, depending on who you asked. She figured both fit the situation.

She hadn't seen the night sky in ages. She used to go up into the troposphere with West on clear, cloudless nights, much like this one. They'd be so close to the stars, it felt like she could reach out and touch them, letting stardust cover her fingers like fine gold.

That was so long ago, when Claire was just a cheerleader and life was complete. All the pieces fell into place once she moved to Costa Verde. She met her first boyfriend, a boy who would always hold a special place in her heart. He was cute, protective and never let her get hurt.

Her parents also started breaking down the walls of secrecy and silence after they moved to Costa Verde. Before that time, there were things that were off-limits to talk about in the Bennett family. Dad's work with Primatech. Claire's continuing attempts to test the limits of her powers. Lyle's growing jealousy and desire for his parent's attention.

Claire closed her eyes and memories flashed across her mind. She missed her brother. Oh god, how she missed her brother. Even when he was making gagging faces when he accidentally walked in on her and West making out. Even when he was threatening to sell videos of her freaky death attempts to YouTube. The last memory of him that she could think of was his body, riddled with bullets with the Playstation controller still in his hands. Her words screamed through the house that night, even as the company men dragged her from the house. "I'll come with you just give him my blood. Please. Save his life. Don't let him die. Please."

Claire sat up and inhaled deeply. Forcing her thoughts back to the present day, she eagerly fought to forget such memories. The past was an unkind demon, leaving little after devouring everything she loved. She watched Sylar look in the rear view mirror, watching her as she calmed herself. After a moment, she asked, "Where are we?"

"Route 70. We passed through Little Rock about fifteen minutes ago. I was going to go a different way but there was some sort of police activity going on the interstate." Sylar glanced back to the road. "I didn't think we needed the trouble."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "I thought you enjoyed trouble."

"Not when I don't want them to slow me down." Sylar had on his resolve face, that familiar dark brow and slight smirk. He had a plan; anyone who got in the way was making a stupid and possibly fatal, move. However, he had yet to divulge this secret plan to her in between grabbing her and whisking her away on some hunt for the golden goose.

"Are you ever going to explain why we're traveling east or where we're headed?" She grabbed the bag of clothes from before, sorting through the garments to pick out something to change into. Past a couple of pairs of jeans, she found the cozy red sweater she'd bought at one of the small boutiques. "Or am I going to have to continue to guess while hoping that the serial killer is not leading me to my death?"

"Leading you to your death? Oh, come on, now. You don't think I'd really do a thing like that, do you?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice like deadly poison, leaving his question punctuated by a challenging laugh. Before escaping Primatech together, Claire wouldn't put it past him not to leave her in pieces in a ditch on the side of the road. A strange sort of trust was building between them now. Not that she wasn't wary of his new kindness but this alliance kept her alive. He switched lanes and finally replied with the answers Claire was looking for, "I used to know this guy, Mohinder Suresh--"

"The geneticist?"

"Yes. A few years ago, him and I traveled around the country in search of other special people, people with abilities." He paused, before deciding to go ahead with the rest of what he was going to say. "People that I killed. He didn't know who I was back then."

"So, what, you lied to him and then betrayed that trust?" Claire slipped on her new sweater. The warmth of it did not help distracting her from the fact that she was sitting in a car with someone who had murdered a number of people in the past. How many met their end at Sylar's hands and powers, Claire did not want to ask. Some things were better left unknown. "What makes you think he'll want to see you now?"

"Yes. I betrayed him if you want to get technical about it." Sylar rolled his eyes and answered with no more regret than most felt when crushing a bug. "He had it coming to him. He was weak with too many emotional attachments. He wouldn't let the search for his father's killer die. He thought getting revenge would make him the perfect son. It was pathetic."

"Haven't you ever had a family, Sylar?" She pulled at the arms of the sweater until they were covering her hands, warming her up and giving her a place to hide. "Don't you understand that this is the way these things work? If someone attacked anyone in my family, I wouldn't rest until they were brought in by the police," her features darkened as she added, "or worse."

"Is that what you plan on doing to the people who murdered your family, Claire? Are you going to take down the company single-handedly?" Sylar replied, changing topics. They both knew the war against the company would be one long fought. People had tried to take down Primatech before, many of them. Each had failed in their own way, their small rebellions brushed aside like ants in the way of a giant.

"Give me time." Claire watched the trees pass by, deep in thought. Even if she was one person, one insignificant human against the hundreds that existed within the company, Claire wouldn't be able to rest until their whole world toppled down around them and their power fell to ruin. They took so much from her and she would take some much more from them. Brightening up, she jumped back into the conversation. "So, your plan is to go to Dr. Suresh.. and then what? Even if he decides he wants to help us, what good will a geneticist do?"

"Ah, Claire, this geneticist happens to have a daughter." Sylar said, getting to crux of his plan. "An adopted daughter by the name of Molly. I tried to kill her once--"

"Did you try to kill everyone once?" Claire cocked her head to the side. All his stories seemed to start this way. It would have almost been laughable, had it not been so very disturbing.

"Some more than once." He smiled. A car passed them, its light shining into the Rogue and lighting up Sylar's face for a brief moment. Claire wasn't sure whether it was what he had said or the eerie glow of bright headlights, that made him appear all the more evil. "But, this Molly, she is a remarkable young lady. She has the nifty little ability of being able to track anyone, anywhere. I'm not sure how it works exactly, but from what I hear she's better than a GPS tracking system. Much."

"I can see why you would have wanted her ability." Claire knew the faint details of why Sylar went on his murder spree years ago. Her father told her that Sylar collected abilities from other people, taking apart their brains to see what made them tick and then arranging his DNA to adapt that ability to his own body. With Molly's clairvoyancy, Sylar would have been able to find advanced humans faster, pin pointing their locations and then sweeping in for the kill. Somehow Molly had survived and the world had been saved from an even worse timeline. Not like the current one wasn't bad enough. Claire leaned into the front seat. "But what good will that do? Who are we going to find?"

"Claire," he started slowly, approaching the subject with some care. Through the dark, she could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see how she would react. "We're going to use Molly to track down Peter. From the conversations I picked up in Primatech, I'm guessing he's the one who escaped. He's alive, whether you want to believe that or not."

She sat back and crossed her arms, debating on kicking his seat. No, that wouldn't be a good idea. Kicking the driver when they're steering the car you're sitting in is never a good plan.

Neither was Sylar's plan though. Going on some wild romp around the county in search of someone who would never be found would do little but get her hopes up and then crush them later. After all, even with all of Peter's abilities, there was little chance of escaping. That Sylar and her made it out of the facility was little more than a fluke and most likely unable to be duplicated. Primatech had been around for a long time, they'd perfected their cages and their techniques of breaking someone's spirit.

Claire almost hated Sylar for bringing her along before letting her know what they were searching for. Almost. Deep inside behind that anger the barest traces of faith lingered. Faith that this world was not as bad as she thought. Faith that the universe would not leave her all alone. "I'll play along for now, Sylar, but I doubt we'll find him." She bit her lip and pondered her choices. Nothing too bad could come from following along on this crazy journey but if she went off on her own, Claire wasn't sure she would make it that far. "Besides, Dr. Suresh probably won't let you come anywhere near Molly again."

A long silence came in reply, as Sylar thought about how to dodge this particular hitch in the plan. Then, he replied as he made a turn towards the exit ramp, "I'll figure out a way to see her again. Mohinder and I go way back. I have ways of making him cooperate even if he doesn't want to at first."

"Cooperate?" Claire didn't like the sound of that.

"Don't worry." Sylar told her as the car drove up to the toll booth. He tossed some change into the basket and continued driving, heading toward the signs pointing to Memphis. "I won't kill him unless it's absolutely necessary. But I will find a way to get what I want. I always do."

Claire liked the sound of that even worse. She knew Sylar was only trying to help her, which may have been the first sign of humanity he'd shown to anyone in years. Still, the means were steep and the ends were possibly not even out there to be reached. Even if Sylar's idea lead her to Peter, if anyone got hurt while they attempted to make this plan work, Claire wasn't sure she could live with herself. There were geneticists involved now, and young children, families who didn't need to have their safe little worlds interrupted like this.

It seemed that Claire was always interrupting the peace and calm of somebody's life. So many people had been hurt or killed in order for her to survive.

The first sacrifice to Claire's safety was Jackie Wilcox, the captain of the cheerleading squad at Union Wells High School. She'd died because a murderer mistook her identity and thought she was Claire. She shot a look at Sylar, remembering the night they met back when they were both leading very different lives. He snuffed out Jackie's spirit with little afterthought.

More sacrifices were needed to be made on Claire's alter following that first one. Her father was shot three different times trying to protect her. The latter of those bullet wounds was fatal. He was only trying to protect her, always trying to protect her.

Her mother came close to having a brain aneurysm when the Haitian kept erasing her memory of Claire's abilities. She'd gotten so sick before the truth came out. She remembered helplessly walking around the hospital, praying for her mother to be there the next day, to just live through the night. She'd survived only to be killed with the rest of the family when the company came for Claire two years ago.

There were those in the hotel, whose corpses she could still see when Claire closed her eyes. Mutilated human bodies, even if they were the enemy, crept into her mind in vivid colors. Somewhere their families mourned for them tonight like she would have mourned her father, if he died while working for the company. Sylar told her it was better this way, they had deserved it, it was either the company's men or their freedom. All Claire heard was excuse after excuse for death after death. All because of her.

This doctor and his daughter now stood between Claire and her goals. Or the goals others had set for her. She prayed for their sake that they would provide the needed assistance and play along, because Claire knew Sylar wasn't the type to accept failure so readily. She starred out the window as the buildings grew taller and the city started rising up around them. How many deaths needed to rest on her shoulders?

Too many had died already.

All because of her.

Save the cheerleader; destroy the world.

...to be continued..


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Claire and Sylar arrived in the city, sleep seemed like the best thing in the world. They pulled up to the Memphis Sweet Motel a little after midnight. The neon vacancy sign flashed on and off, drawing Claire and Sylar in from the highway with promises of beds and a hot shower. That promised seemed to fall flat on its face by the time they arrived to their chosen rest stop.

The locals were a bit scary. A man helped a bleach blond woman over a missing step in the staircase to the second floor. She hung onto his shoulders, steadying herself and they fumbled onward towards their room. The both of them looked positively drunk. Definitely the type that would rent a room for an hour and then split so the woman could go back to her waitress job at some truck stop diner.

After they parked, Claire refused to budge from the car. She eyed the couple suspiciously and then took in the overall sight of the place. Pieces of the roof seemed to be falling off and there were large craters in the sidewalk that could be seen through the garbage that littered the walkway. "You don't expect me to sleep here, do you?"

"Better than the cells back at Primatech, don't you think?" Sylar didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he stepped out of the car and let the sound of the car door closing behind him end the conversation. He had an annoying habit of always needing to have the last word but Claire for the most part allowed him to do so. After all, she knew some of his other bad habits and this one was minor compared to those.

Gathering her courage, Claire eventually got out and stretched her legs. She wrapped her arms around herself and glance around. Her mother used to talk about visiting Memphis and seeing Graceland, the home of that really old, tacky singer Elvis. She wondered if the tackiness of the hotel matched the tackiness of the singer in any fair degree.

"So, Sylar.. is this where you film all your porn?" She asked, her amusement the only weapon against the bad vibes coming off this place in the bucketfuls. He rolled his eyes and continued on to the front lobby. Claire imagined he slept at places like this often, at least back before his extended stay at the company. The life of a criminal was not all glamor and flashy superpowers, apparently.

"Go ahead and laugh but it'll keep us under the radar." Sylar finally answered as he waited for her by the lobby. Claire's eyebrows arched as he held open the door for her like a gentleman. He looked at her, looking at him and suddenly caught himself in the act of doing something courteous. For an instant, he appeared embarrassed until he marched inside and let the wooden screen door slam shut on her nose.

Claire rubbed her nose with her fingers, wondering what the hell just happened. For a second there, she could have sworn Sylar was acting almost human but politeness usually was as foreign to him as snow to Texas.

"..so give us your best room."

She shrugged off the weirdness and entered the lobby just in time to catch the end of Sylar's sentence. The insides were about as disgusting as the rest of the place, from the peculiar stain on the carpeted floor to grungy man working the front desk wearing a wifebeater.

"Aww, honeymooners. Ain't cha sweet?" The manager smiled and showed a few gold teeth causing Claire to pull back in revulsion instinctively. While he rifled through a bunch of keys hanging on the wall, searching for just the right room for the newlyweds, Claire opened her mouth to protest but Sylar wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The strangeness of that motion cut off all words she could have spoken, leaving her tongue-tied and more than a little disturbed.

"That's right." Sylar played along and placed a few twenties on the counter. He rubbed her shoulder and pulled his lips into a grin. Claire could swear he was enjoying this a little more than he should have been. "This here's my girl, Sara. She's the sweetest thing and she can cook real good too."

"I'll give ya room 351. It's the honeymoon suite." The manager returned with a metal key, not one of those newer plastic credit card type hotel passes that Claire was used to. He winked to Sylar and added, "Just twenty-five cents to turn the magic fingers on."

Claire strained to ignore the conversation, finding it for the most part uber-creepy. This was doing nothing good for what little she had left of her sanity. Sylar patted her on the ass causing her to jump, a little playful flirtation before her mind imploded in on itself.

Before she could get over the shock of his hand against her ass, Sylar grabbed her arm and led her out of the lobby. He whispered in her ear loudly enough for the manager to overhear. "Just wait til I get you up to the room, darlin'."

By the time they left the lobby, Claire finally gathered her thoughts enough to reply. She covered her face with her palm and groaned over all the bad imagery that those words brought to her mind. "Oh, dear god."

* * *

Most of his flirting died down by the time they retrieved their bags from the car, though Claire still caught Sylar's delighted grin every now and then. He was playing the role well, though she wasn't sure whether that was to continue the cover story or solely to amuse himself as Claire's expense. 

She trudged up the stairs of the motel to the third floor, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep and forget the weirdness this night had brought. She only hoped that the bed was not in the shape of a heart though maybe a champagne glass jacuzzi would be worth getting the honeymoon suite. Wasn't that what places like this were supposed to have? She sighed, doubting the motel would have sprung for anything that fancy.

"We're here. Home sweet disgusting home." Claire unlocked the door and then pocketed the key. The insides were about as wonderful as the rest of the place. Not very. A part of her wondered if Sylar had chosen this place solely based on the fact that he knew it would creep her out. After years of training and practice, that man knew how to torture people pretty damn well.

Sylar darted past her and dropped his stuff on the floor, eagerly heading for the bed. The only bed in the whole room. He didn't even bother to get under the covers, too tired to take the energy to waste the energy it would take to turn down the bed. He mumbled something against the pillow that sounded to Claire like, "Tomorrow, you get to drive to Washington, DC."

"You're the only one of us who has a driver's license." Claire pointed out as she chucked a bag of her things on the floor. Equal bits of amusement and annoyance crept into her voice as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Even if it is stolen."

"Then I'll steal one for you if it'll make you happy." Sylar was in no mood to argue the finer details of this plan. He yawned and put a pillow over his head, blocking out the light from the room and the noise emitting from Claire's mouth.

Claire rolled her eyes and began to wiggle her feet out of her new shoes. That wasn't exactly the answer she was going for here. There was no doubt in her mind that if Sylar obtained an id card for her, it would only be through illegal means. She didn't need anyone getting mugged, or worse, on her account.

Though she wouldn't be able to obtain one for herself these days legally. The company erased her records when they'd brought her in, destroying all proof that she was ever been born or lived any sort of life before they came to fetch her on that hot spring night. It was the best way to cover their tracks and one more item to add to the growing list of things stolen from her.

Claire forced herself to deal with the more important matter at hand. There was only one bed. One bed in the whole room. One bed that currently Sylar was attempting to fall asleep in. At least he left her some room on their honeymoon king sized mattress. There was no way she was sleeping next to him though. "Um.. so which one of us is sleeping on the floor?"

"That's a leading question, Claire." Sylar opened her eyes and grinned. "The choice is yours though. You can sleep on the left side of the bed or you can sleep on the floor. I'm comfortable where I am and if you try to make me sleep on that shag 1970s carpet, I will hurt you."

Claire wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. She crossed her arms and sighed, coming to a decision. "This was all part of your plan, wasn't it? Get me alone, in bed--"

"Oh yes," he rolled over and yawned, curling up on his pillow. With deep sarcasm, he added, "I've lived for the moment when I could molest your barely postpubescent body. Stop bitching and go to sleep already."

"Hey, I'm 24. And I'm very curvaceous.. and I'm--" She retorted but stopped herself halfway through her rant of why he should want to molest her. These were not good things to be sharing with him."I'm going to go to sleep now."

"Thank you." Sylar replied, happy to have her finally shut up.

Claire tentatively laid down in bed, making sure that no part of her body was within a minimum couple of inches from his. They needed their space. They needed lots of space.

When she was finally ready to fall asleep and get some rest, Claire realized she'd left the light on. It glared at her from overhead, keeping her from the sleep she so desperately wanted to partake in. She closed her eyes, willing it to go away but it refused to relent in its efforts to keep her awake.

From the comfort of her bed and the warmth of the sheets, Claire eyed the light switch all the way across the room, on the far wall. Why was it so far away? She reached out a hand in vain, if only her arm was only ten more feet long. She would have been able to touch it then. Times like these she wondered if there was anyone out there with the superpower to stretch their limbs like in one of the comics Zach used to read.

Her eyes then fell on Sylar who was still trying to fall asleep. He was just the man for this particular job. Sometimes it was good to be traveling around with a telepath. "Hey, can you wiggle your nose or whatever and switch off the lights?"

Sylar lifted his hand against the pillow, pressing it closer to his ear in order to keep out the rest of the world. Right when she was about to ask again, he accepted her request and raised his hand to shut off the light.

Nothing happened.

Claire watched as he moved the pillow from off his face and looked at the light switch. He glared at it with as much concentration as he could muster this late at night.

Still nothing happened.

He sat up in bed, focusing his mind until it was sharp and unyielding in this effort. Yet, Sylar still failed to accomplish much of anything except wearing himself out further.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Sylar gave up and plopped back into bed. He crossed his arms and nearly growled his answer out. "No, Claire. I can't. Why don't you do it, okay? Make yourself useful for once."

Sitting up in bed, Claire wore a look of total shock and incomprehension. "What do you mean, you can't?" When Sylar refused to answer, she asked again, "What-- don't you have your powers anymore? That's impossible.. I saw them working fine yesterday."

"I don't want to talk about it, Claire." He raised his voice, clearly stating his boundaries on the subject. Clipped words displayed the power she would combat if she were ever to cross those boundaries. A frightening stillness came over the room, as Claire found herself suddenly afraid to move. It was times like these she remembered what an animal he could be and how untameable. Then softening a bit, he added, "Just get the lights, would you?"

Shakily, she rose from the bed. Claire had to stop herself from tiptoeing across the room. She promised herself somewhere between running away from the guards back in Odessa and almost getting caught in the shopping center by the police in Blue Ridge, that she would not be afraid anymore. She wouldn't give people that kind of power over her. Ironically enough, it had been Sylar himself that had showed her that there was another way to do things rather than walking around life with your tail between your legs. "Okay, well, goodnight then."

The light flicked off. And suddenly she was alone in a room with a man who thought murder was a pastime and had snapped at her unexpectedly only moments ago. Life was chock full of these fun little I-hope-I-don't-die kinda moments.

..to be continued..


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning Sylar woke beside Claire as sunlight streamed in through the curtains. He lay there, slowly waking and watching her sleep. He had to admit that she was beautiful; one more butterfly that should have been added to his collection years ago. Yet, here she was, sleeping soundly in a room that he himself had paid for, albeit with money that technically wasn't his own. Not that that man from Texas really needed the cash where he was now.

She wiggled her nose in her sleep as her hand kneaded the pillow, a little girl lost in the woods and here he was the big bad wolf. This quiet time, in between arguments and planning and driving and escaping, this was what made everything all worth while.

He would be hard pressed to admit it but she made him feel sorta special. Like this was the right thing to do, despite all evidence that he should have killed her by now. She was in his care, he was the one who had gotten her to safety and was bringing her back to where she belonged. All he ever wanted in life was for someone to think he was special, unique, someone who was worth something. A hero.

It was better than witnessing her frozen over with fear the night before. The way her voice caught in her throat and then her stepping gently towards the lightswitch so as not to provoke him. Walking on eggshells, his mother used to call it when Gabriel's father got into one of his moods. He used to swear he wouldn't turn into someone like his father, the angry man with the threatening voice and footsteps you could hear coming down the hall after you. So much for that plan. The only way to placate that man was to become exactly like him.

He sighed and rose from bed. In a week or so, he would hand Claire off to Peter and she would be his problem. Once Sylar was gone from her life, Claire would never have to worry about him losing control again. She would never be hurt by him. She would never get to see the destruction he left in his wake. It would be safer that way, for both of them. He could do what he wanted, live the kind of life that came naturally to him, violence included. And she would be safe.

One more week. A few more days.

For now he needed to worry about getting his powers back.

* * *

It was the cold that woke Claire that morning in the motel room. The chill that got right down to her bones could not be kept away by blankets alone. She opened her eyes to see the motel room frozen over and icicles hanging from almost every surface. Sylar stood in the middle of this winter wonderland, perfecting his aim as he turned everything he touched to ice.

Claire shivered out a greeting as she huddled deeper under the blankets. "W-what are you-u d-doing?"

"Cryokinesis." Sylar answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hair was still wet from the shower but he showed no signs of being cold. Instead, he beamed with a glowing enthusiasm for the talent he was working towards developing. "One of my many talents."

"One of your stolen talents, you mean?"

Whether the annoyed tone in her voice was because of the means he had gone to get those powers or because she had woken up freezing cold because he wanted to play Frosty, Claire wasn't completely sure. Six of one; half a dozen of the other. At least his powers were working again, so hopefully their plan wouldn't backfire too much on them. Despite the fact that she couldn't trust him, there was comfort in knowing that he was a powerful ally, when he chose to stay on her side at least.

There was a beauty to this spectacle though, she supposed. Even though the temperature would have made the mercury drop out the bottom of a thermometer the air was quiet and still. Like after the huge snowstorm back a few years ago when she'd spent the holidays with the Petrelli family out in their upstate New York mansion.

"You should get ready soon." His voice interrupted her reverie. He touched the lamp, making the light in the room look as if it were sunlight coming through a frozen lake. Then the light bulb shattered into several pieces. With the shades drawn down across the window, the room grew substantially darker. "Checking out before the motel manager comes to check on what we've done with his place would be a good idea."

"Maybe you shouldn't have destroyed the place then." She offered as she began building up a fort for herself within a burrow of blankets and pillows. Getting up and ready was going to be hell, she could already imagine the way it would feel to place her feet outside the meager warmth the bed provided. She silently hoped he hadn't touched the bathroom yet. There was no way she was stripping down to bare nakedness amidst an icy, rigid landscape if it resembled the rest of the room in any way. "They do tend to frown on that."

He shrugged off her comment, too happy that his powers were working again to feel much of anything else. He frowned, feigning shocked and hurt feelings. "Destroying things is what I do, Claire. You should know this by now."

"Trust me, I know." She muttered under the blankets.

He shot her a look, raising one bushy eyebrow. "I heard that."

"Cryokinesis, superhearing.. are all your other powers working today too?" She wasn't sure how many he had obtained over the years and a part of her really didn't want to. Each of these stolen powers came from another death; one more person to add to the growing list of people destroyed because they were different. "Maybe they were on the fritz last night because you needed to get some rest."

"That's not it, Claire," Sylar shook his head and then began practicing levitating the broken shards of the lightbulb, moving them around each other like the parts of a very big atom. His features grew dark, the enthusiasm he once held seeming to dissipate a little bit. He sighed before divulging his secret. "They did something to me down there. I don't know why I let them, why I didn't stop them sooner.. maybe I got too used to following orders.. they were injecting me with something."

Claire was silent, her memory recalling tortures acted out on her by the company. There were nights when she lost her voice due to screaming so much. Nights when she would have killed herself if the only the pain would stop. They weren't people down there. They were animals. Lab rats with no choice but to go along with whatever their captors wanted.

Though she never received any injections, the company threatened her with the thought of them. The drugs were used to control the uncontrollable, to make even the unwilling submit.

"It pushed my powers down to the parts of my brain that I couldn't reach. I tried.." His voice shook with the pain of losing a very important part of himself and the anger at those who had subjected him to such treatment. "I tried so many times to reach out and utilize those parts of my brain, to make it all work again like it used to. So many times I failed. The drug put my ability to alter my DNA to sleep so I couldn't reorganize my brain in order to escape its effects. I couldn't do anything." He shook his hand and the lightbulb bits went flying into the wall, shattering into even smaller pieces. "There was nothing I could do to stop.. them.. from destroying everything I had."

Claire was quiet, letting him grieve for their lost freedom in peace. She knew the feeling. The company destroyed everything that she held special in her own life, wiping it out one night with little regard to the person they were demolishing. Like the pieces of the lightbulb, each of them had broken into too many pieces to put back together the same way.

Then she remembered something West had told her many years ago and said it slowly out loud so the both of them could hear and heed the words. "They'll only win if you let them."

His mood lightened just a bit. "You may be right. I still have my powers, don't I? Whether or not they keep shorting out on me, I'll make them work again." He nodded, acknowledging the truth behind her words. Then he sailed her bag of clothes, which he had thankfully not frozen, over to her. "You should take a shower. I promise not to peek at you."

"I'll be locking the door just in case." She plucked the bag from the air and shot him a grin. Then she stuck her feet back into her shoes that were beside the bed. An icy floor was the last thing she wanted to experience this soon after waking up.

"You're a tease, Claire Bennet."

She laughed but stopped half-way to the bathroom, a more serious thought crossing her mind, "Hey, Sylar, if the company ever comes for us.. well, I wanted to thank you for this brief time-out you've given me. It's been a nice vacation away from their crap."

"Claire, if the company ever comes for us again, I'll kill them." The menacing glare in his eyes wasn't directed at her but at a thousand employees. An army of people whom he swore to take down, one by one and piece by piece. "I slipped up last time, got careless and stupid. There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do to stay out of that place. Nothing."

The little hairs on the back of her neck rose as a shiver ran from her head straight down to her toes. Claire was sure it wasn't because of the temperature.

* * *

Sylar was packing the rest of his belongings into a bag when he heard Claire stepping out of the shower. He picked up the noise of the shower curtain moving and her soft footsteps into the small tiled area just behind the door. She'd been in there for a half hour now. That girl could waste hot water like nobody's business.

What was soft, lilting noises suddenly became screeching and slamming of things inside the bathroom. He needed to shake his head to make the ringing stop after the screaming calmed down. Of course his superhearing had to come back right in time for him to nearly burst an eardrum from Claire's manic episode. He phased through the door to find her up on the counter and pointing to a something that was moving behind the sink.

"Cockroach! Cockroach!" She repeated as if stuck in replay.

He bent down and peeked behind the sink. It was a little thing, not worth all the hollering and yelling. Sylar wasted no time slamming his boot onto it's shell, crunching the little sucker until it was a pile of goo and exoskeleton.

Then he moved to help Claire down from the counter top. Her wet hair hung in strands around her face which was blushed red from fading fear and possibly a little embarrassment. She smacked his hand away and pointed towards the door. "I'm naked. Get out!"

"What no thank you?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, knowing how much it creeped her out when he made mock advances at her. As Claire grabbed a towel from off the rack and wrapped it around herself quickly, she held her mouth set in a deep frown until he finally threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine. I'm leaving. Next time I'm going to let the bugs eat you."

Unlocking the door, he exited and let her finish getting dressed alone.

..to be continued..


	11. Chapter 11

They passed the Virginia border by early afternoon, which was about the time that the weather decided to become downright miserable. Heavy storms rolled down from the mountains, cloaking the interstate with patches of thick fog and thunderstorms. The rain drowned out the sound of the radio, which wasn't too much of a letdown since all the stations around those parts seemed to consist of really bad country music.

Claire gripped the leather cover of the wheel tightly, hands positioned directly at ten and two and wondered why the simple act of driving left a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her foot barely grazed the gas pedal as if she was afraid for her foot to even be near it. Even after all her begging and pleading, Sylar refused to drive this leg too. Now his sole task seemed to be to pointing at passing signs and reminded her that the interstate had a minimum speed limit.

She didn't have a particularly good record with cars.

Back during her Union Wells High School days, after a particularly bad dating experience that led to an attempted rape and her first near death experience, she'd crashed her car into a brick wall. It seemed like the only way Brody would ever learn how to treat women better. Her healing abilities allowed her to walk away unscathed. Brody, on the other hand, received a moderate concussion from that accident.

Then in Costa Verde, she accidentally left the doors to the new truck her father bought her unlocked. It was stolen that day, only a week after receiving it as her birthday present. It was a beautiful truck for the few days she owned it; another Nissan because that was the only brand name her father would trust to let his only daughter drive.

Neither the accident nor theft accounted for the inadequacy Claire felt as she drove through traffic. The real reason behind this sudden fear was that Primatech employees repeatedly told Claire that she was a bad driver and would only crash and die if she ever tried to leave by car.

She knew it was all brainwashing and not a speck of it was true. They only made those claims so Claire wouldn't use faster transportation than they could track if she ever attempted escape. There were only so many times that something could be said before it became the truth though.

She bit her lip and focused on the task at hand: getting from Memphis to Washington without having a multitude of panic attacks which would kill both passengers in a massive bloody collision. Claire sucked in a deep breath while thoughts of dying in a ditch by the side of the road with windshield glass stuck through her forehead clouded her mind.

"What if we slide into on-coming traffic or we hit a patch of ice--" Claire glanced at the storm clouds overhead. There was no ice coming, only rain, but that didn't dissuade the worry from popping up in her head. The long list of What Ifs continued rolling around in her mind, "Or we--"

"Don't worry. If that happens, I'll crawl to your bloody corpse, steal your powers before your brain stops working completely and heal myself." Sylar cut her off as a teasing smile spread across his lips. Claire was sure he was enjoying her panic, he probably got off on it in his own twisted way. When all he got from her was stony silence, he added, "What? I can't enjoy a little amusement at your expense? But that's what makes road trips fun!"

Her on-coming panic attack took a back seat to the new aggravation of her back talking passenger.

Claire's foot slammed on the gas pedal making Sylar grab for the overhead handle. The way his eyes now widened as she darted through traffic and narrowly avoided hitting a few vehicles in the process amused her. Maybe he was right. Maybe getting a little amusement at the expense of the other passenger really was what made road trips fun.

* * *

With all the headway they made with Claire's new crazy driving scare tactics, they made it to Roanoke by lunch time. Stopping at a small diner, the conversation was light and Claire caught herself smiling at his jokes more than once. When the check came for their meal, Sylar glanced in the stolen wallet and pulled out what was left of their funds. It was barely enough to cover the expense of their food and possibly a little gas. He lowered his voice, "After lunch I want you to go back to the car while I go get some money from the locals."

Claire put down the extremely strong lemonade she was drinking and frowned. Her next words were chosen carefully, the question needing to be asked no matter how mad it would make him or how naive it would make her look. "Are you going to steal it?"

"No, Claire," He spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child. Her frown grew deeper as his sarcasm grew stronger. "I'm going to ask them nicely if they would please donate a few hundred dollars to the Primatech Escapee Fund. I'm sure they'd be willing to help me out because I have such an honest face."

She pushed her food away, no longer hungry. "There has to be a better way. You can't go around mugging people whenever we need more money. Someone could get hurt." 

"Stealing is the only way I know how to survive." Sylar shrugged and stole a few fries from her plate. "I'm not going to hurt anyone, okay? If that's what you're so worried about. I promise. I'm merely going to rough them up a bit, take what I need and then we can get on our way."

"I'm supposed to trust your promises? You're wanted for murder in how many states now?" Neither of them were expecting her to throw his past back in his face. It was the truth though. She was traveling with someone she would never be able to trust completely. It kinda put a kink in their friendship. Her voice lowered to a hiss, carefully out of ear shot of the other patrons, "I can't keep doing this.. I can't keep letting people get hurt whenever I need something or when it'll benefit me. That's not how my parents raised me."

"Your parents are dead, Claire." His voice deadpanned painful words she did not want to hear.

Claire raised her hand, aiming to strike from across the table. She wanted to smack him across the face for daring to say those words, for daring to speak that thought or mention them at all but as tears threatened to fall from her eyes, she lowered her hand and simply said. "I'll be in the car."

She stood, rising from the small table in the back of the diner and walked out on him.

* * *

After leaving the diner, Sylar stomped through puddles, ignoring the way the water damped the bottom of his pants. Rain poured down around him, causing him to squint against it's constant onslaught. He was out in the city, looking for prey, one easy target before heading back to the car. Nothing would stop him from this pursuit, not even Claire's constant whining about right and wrong.

He buttoned his coat, pulling it tighter against the harsh weather. The cold chill of the city air was nothing compared to the look Claire gave him when she left the diner. She expected more from him, more from the world but things couldn't be changed around just to make her happy. She was acting like a child. She wouldn't survive in this world like that. Someone had to snap her back to harsh reality. The world wasn't a nice place and people needed to look after their own. 

Sylar tried to push Claire out of his thoughts and made his way through town, hoping to spot a good target for what he had in mind. They'd lose their life and he would work out a few pent up emotions. It was almost like therapy, letting all his anger pour out into a person who would be a corpse in a short time. Sylar lied to her when he said he would only rough them up a bit. Maybe that was why Claire got so upset. He frowned, caught up in replaying their conversation again.

The search for the right victim was starting to get discouraging. Not too many people were out on the street in the middle of the rainstorm. The few that were didn't look like they had too much money with them, mostly runaways and homeless. Maybe there were others he could have easily chosen but Sylar was picky that afternoon. He couldn't explain why. Each person on the street seemed like a viable option but then he remembered Claire's face. Stupid, innocent Claire. That girl was born to be a victim and raised to be a moron. Yet, the way she stuck to her beliefs, guarding her boundaries of what was right and what was wrong. It showed a kind of strength, even if Sylar couldn't completely agree with it.

He growled, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. This was stupid. He should stop thinking about that damn girl and what she wanted, go get what he needed and be done with it. An ATM was blinking at him angrily, bright lights against the gray rain. At first he ignored it and continued walking. Then an idea popped into his head and he hurried back to the machine.

Sylar placed his hand on its warm screen, searching within himself for a power he had stolen years earlier from a little boy. It didn't take long to mind meld with the machine. It spoke to him in words formed of binary code and he replied in the same. Once the connection with the machine was made, the rest was simple. Money came sliding out of it's withdrawal slot like coins at Vegas, a couple thousand in total. He took it and pocketed it, making sure no one spotted him.

Claire couldn't possibly object to this. He wasn't hurting anyone to obtain what they needed because that kid was already dead. Sylar killed him so long ago that it was history. He walked off into the rain, heading back to the parking lot with a smile on his face.

When Sylar got back to the car the passenger door was locked. He knocked on it and Claire rolled down the window so they could talk as rain poured down on him and continued drenching him. He leaned into the car. "You wanna let me in, Claire?"

"I don't know." Claire refused to look at him, keeping her eyes firmly on view through the front windshield. She crossed her arms and returned his jab, "You wanna stop being a jackass?"

He pulled the money out of his coat pocket, fanning it out to show her. He could reach the door lock now if he simply tried but there was a sincere pleasure in making her be the one to cross that space between them. "You're not going to get very far without some of this. Like it or not you need me. Now unlock the door."

"Where did you get all that?" Her eyes went wide as she watched him counting it all in her peripheral vision.

"No one got hurt, if that's what your asking." He finished counting and glanced up at her. She wasn't buying his story, probably figured there was some dead girl somewhere on the streets of Roanoke. "Trust me, no one got hurt.. do you really think someone would be stupid enough to be carrying this much around with them? Now let me in."

The only reply that came from Claire was the sound of the lock clicking open. It sort of amused Sylar when he could get her to do exactly what he wanted. He tried not to think about how he had played right into her hands as well.

..to be continued..


	12. Chapter 12

Washington DC was a welcome sight at the end of the day with its illuminated, Roman architecture rising in the skyline. The car ride was tense to say the least. The argument from earlier had caused a slow healing rift between them leaving both unusually quiet, neither speaking a word since Roanoke. The only sound filling the car that day was the radio, though even that was a battle, with each of them wanting to listen to a different channel. Claire would change the station, only to have Sylar change it back. Each had their own way of doing things and neither was very good at compromise.

By the time they ordered room services, the last remnants of the bad vibes seemed to dissipate though. It was the bottle of Chianti Sylar bought with their food that helped ease them back into each other's good graces. By the time they were both delightfully drunk, all thoughts of arguing completely vanished.

There were more important things to focus on that past arguments, like making sure they didn't get caught again, eventually moving on to New York City to see Doctor Suresh and walking straight. Walking straight was becoming a harder task the more glasses of wine Claire enjoyed. She giggled, "You couldn't have picked a wine that made you seem less Hannibal Lector-ish, could you?"

She fell off the bed laughing, her joke not that amusing but the spirits made it seem so. He narrowed his eyes at her from the bed, gave her his best spooky voice and answered, "But the lambs were screaming, Clar-ice."

"You're drunk." She leaned her head back against the bed and smiled up at him. Claire's head was swimming, the alcohol going straight to her brain. She would have wondered why she trusted Sylar enough to let her guard down this much around him, if Claire wasn't too busy attempting to sit up without falling over.

"So are you," He told her, pointing out the obvious. "And I'm not entirely sure you're legal. I'm going to get in trouble for corrupting minors."

"You can't corrupt me, Sylar." Claire sat up, affecting the air of a proper young woman. The kind of lady Grandmother Petrelli would have been please to have, instead of the troubled woman she grew up to be. She lost her balance as she did so, falling back against the bed again."I'm far too good of a human being to fall for your tricks."

"Yeah?" Sylar gave her a devious grin. "We'll see about that."

* * *

The next morning, Claire roused from heavy slumber by someone shaking her arm. She moaned and pulled away, trying to escape back into sleep again. His voice was sweet and singsong, but still grating on her ears and hell on her hangover. "Claire.. ohhh.. Claire.. wake up! I wanna go get ice cream. Come with me."

"What?" She mumbled, covering her head with more blankets.

From the warmth of her bed, Claire heard him rush over to the large window next to her bed, the one that took up the whole wall and overlooked the beautifully manicured courtyard garden. Sylar quickly drew back the shades, causing sunlight that was far too bright when pitted against her hangover to fill the room. Was this a new form of torture he had created?

He stood there with his arms crossed, expecting her to jump at his command. She respectfully and silently declined. This did nothing to persuade Sylar from his course of action. Already dressed, he was ready to get out into the city, whether or not Claire was as well. "I'm going for breakfast. Wake up and come with me."

"You eat ice cream for breakfast?"

"It beats the crap out of that garbage they kept serving us in the compound, doesn't it?" Without waiting for her to agree, Sylar raised his hand and the blankets flew off the bed, pulled away by imaginary hands. Claire peered at Sylar, her still blurry vision as he stood by the window smirking. She wondered idly how hard it would be to take him in a fight and if she would be able to get back to bed if they did have an epic showdown.

Claire felt the same invisible power pulling her out of bed, while Sylar wore the grin of a mischievous child. She grasped for the headboard, but he refused to let her win so easily. "You're coming whether you like it or not. If you go by your own accord, it'll be easier on both of us."

He dropped her onto the floor, letting her hit her ass on the way down. Standing up, Claire rolled her eyes and nodded through the fog her hangover caused in her. She put a hand to her hips, where she had fallen and wondered why he always seemed to get his way. Maybe that was an undisclosed secret power of his, the ability to manipulate people into doing exactly what he wanted them to do. "Fine, let's go."

The enthusiasm that caused him to nearly bounce with the prospect of getting out of the hotel room and going for breakfast did not seem to build any excitement of her own. At least not this early in the morning.

* * *

The weather was beautiful and warm that afternoon, the rainstorms of Virginia left behind along with their bad moods. Claire was still plagued with one killer of a hangover, but as she walked with Sylar, enjoying the cookies and cream ice cream cone he'd bought for her, the pain seemed to melt away along with the fatigue. She had to admit that she was enjoying herself. Sylar seemed to be in high spirits as well, since his powers were working again.

After getting ice cream, they decided they needed a break from the never-ending monotony of traveling cross country to go out and enjoy themselves. Claire suggested a walk through the tree-lined National Mall, which was bordered by the White House, Lincoln Memorial and the Capital Building. As they passed the White House, walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, Claire sadly noted, "It reminds me of Camelot."

"What does?" Sylar scooped the last bits of his rocky road ice cream out of the cup with his spoon.

"This place.. the country, sometimes the whole world. It was supposed to be better than this, wasn't it? Everyone had these big dreams and then everything fell apart. I mean, whatever happened to the whole men are created equal thing. When exactly was the constitution thrown out the window?" She starred up at the columned white building through the slots of the fence that stood in front of it, wondering what would have happened had Nathan won the election. Would things have changed for them at all? Would he have been able to take down the company with that much power? They never got a chance to find out after he was shot down in the middle of his campaign. "I doubt our forefathers would have wanted Big Brother to control us like they do and lock us up in those cells just because they think we're different."

"We are different." He was smiling as he spoke, reveling in this fact. "We're not equal, we're better. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Besides, I doubt our forefathers would be able to grasp the concept of evolution, as simple minded as they were. They wouldn't have locked us up for having advanced abilities, but rather because we were, in their eyes, demons or witches."

They took a left down 17th street, which led down to the Holocaust Memorial Museum and Claire's mind began to fill with other metaphors. Claire dumped the rest of her ice cream cone in a trash can, no longer hungry. In the past decade, she had seen the worst of humanity, now she was caught wondering if there was anything better out there.

"When did you hear about Nathan's death?"

It was a simple question, asked for the same reason that she was left thinking of her father. This whole place stood as a reminder of him, a monument to everything he thought he was working towards. Each road was one that he might have walked back when he worked in Congress. Still, Claire couldn't answer at first, too caught up in memories and her own emotions to give words to her thoughts.

"I was coming home from a date with West.. when I walked into the living room, I thought at first he was angry. He had this really serious expression on his face like something was really wrong. I was about to explain why I was late. I was prepared to get an argument about how I wasn't going to get pregnant just by being five minutes late.." She knew she was babbling, but the scene was so clear in her mind that she felt the need to explain every detail of it. Her voice sounded so far away, even to her own ears. "Then he moved, he didn't say anything.. he just moved to the side of the tv and let me see what he was watching. It was some news bulletin."

"You heard about your father's death through a news bulletin?" Sylar shook his head, whistling low.

"Yeah. It was this bouncy ditz of a reporter too, who couldn't care less about who she was talking about or whether he had family somewhere. She couldn't even give many details on what actually happened. All she knew was the suspect was a masked man and there were possible campaign connections." Claire starred up at the Washington Memorial as it nearly touched the clouds, scraping the sky, as she tried not to let her tears fall. "He would have made a good president, I think. Maybe we could have been outed, safely, and had laws made to protect our kind. Eh, it's silly thinking about what should have been, but it could have been better."

After a moment of silence, Sylar noted, "My mother wanted me to be president. I think she wanted it more for herself than for me. For a while, I was okay with that dream too. Being a watchmaker, it was a good job, I did good work, but it was so.. insignificant. I wanted to be special."

"Is that why you started killing people.. to be special?" Claire waited for an answer, but all she got back was an annoyed sigh. They'd been down this road and talked this subject to its metaphorical death. Changing the topic, she asked. "So, what happened to that dream?"

"I got sidetracked." He replied. "Primatech got a hold of me. Four years passed and now, even if I wanted to pursue that option, I don't think I would. There are so many other things I could aspire to, other things I could do rather than follow someone else's dreams."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." After thinking about it for a while, he simply shrugged, lost for an answer. It wasn't until they reached the edge of the Reflecting Pool, that Sylar finally noticed Claire was holding back a laugh that seemed to be bubbling up inside of her. "What?!"

Claire couldn't stop herself from teasing, even though she could tell he was barely resisting the urge to push her in the water. "Is the great and all powerful Sylar actually admitting that he doesn't know something?"

He glared at her but when that caused her no fear, he rolled his eyes. "Well, I would say that my goals now consist of murdering people and eventual world domination, but every time that comes up into conversation, you look at me like I'm the devil incarnate."

"Aren't you?" She raised an eyebrow, unsure if she was teasing that time or not. Half and half, Claire supposed. She gazed down at the pool, the waters reflecting the perfect deep blue sky with a few puffs of white clouds here and there. It was nice here, calm. There hadn't been any signs of the company in some time and she was finally getting along with Sylar. "Despite anything that happened between us in the past, you are trying to get me back to my family. That means a lot to me, Sylar. I still don't think we'll find anyone out there and I still doubt that Peter's alive but you've given me hope. And that's something I haven't had in a long time. Thank you."

At first he seemed touched, but then Sylar let the smile fall as he answered sarcastically. "Is this the part where you tell me I'm your hero and we hug and shit?"

They starred at each other, sizing the prospect up and before they both burst out laughing. Claire raised a hand to her mouth as she giggled out her words. "Somehow, I don't think so." Sylar seemed okay with this, he much preferred playing the villain's role anyway. "How's about we get back to the car and start out for New York now? There's still four hours of driving ahead and then we have to figure out how you're going to get to Molly."

"Leave that to me, Claire, I have plans in my head already forming. Things are clicking into place, I simply need to manipulate them in the right way to reach the desired outcome." Sylar replied as they started heading back to their hotel in the Penn Quarter section of the city.

Claire was sure he would have it all worked out by the time they got there, she just hoped his methods weren't too violent. She would have warned him against doing anything too rash, but that had become a point of contention between them and right now she was enjoying the calm between their fights.

Excitement filled each of her steps as they walked through the city, to where the Rogue was waiting for them. If what Sylar proposed turned out to be true, if someone in her family was still alive, she wouldn't have to be alone anymore. She would have someone to keep her safe, to love her and take care of her. Things would be better.

..to be continued..


	13. Chapter 13

By that night, they were in Manhattan, the one city in the world where all their issues seemed to converge. The past and present met in this place, lifelines overlapping in a grand pattern that Sylar could understand only with his advanced abilities. Why were they chosen for this path? Why were the others brought here before, only for most of them to be cut down in the prime of their lives? They had experienced things there that no one should ever have to. Family members exploding, near fatal apocalypses, betrayals by those they trusted and so many deaths.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come along?" Claire asked as they walked through Kirby Plaza. She'd wanted to see what it looked like these days, what remained. The city was doing construction work here. Gates and barricades blocked them from getting that close to the place where Peter and Sylar once fought. "Maybe I can smooth things over with Mohinder. He certainly won't want to talk to you."

"I can handle it, Claire." Sylar was looking forward to seeing Mohinder again. Alone. They had so much to talk about but he reminded himself that their conversation would be kept strictly business. There was no time for vendettas tonight. "I'll be back at the hotel before you can even fall asleep. And we'll travel out to where ever the hell Peter is keeping himself these days and then--"

"Will you leave when it's all over?" Claire shivered against the cold weather, wrapping her arms around herself. She almost sounded hurt, though Sylar couldn't fathom why. He would have thought she'd be glad to get rid of him, especially once she was back with her family. "After we find Peter?"

"Do you want me to stay?" Silence fell between them. She was looking for a hero; he was only playing at being one. They both knew the score. After a moment, he spoke again of more pressing matters, "Go back to the hotel. Wait for me there."

Claire nodded. Then she raised her eyebrows warningly, like he was child she was going to have to keep a close eye on. "Promise not to kill anyone?"

He frowned as the possible fun the night offered was cut in half. "I promise. Though there might be maiming involved.." When she crossed her arms and glared at him, Sylar threw his hands up in surrender. He had no power under the weight of those eyes. "Okay, okay.. no maiming either. God, you're such a killjoy."

"Be careful, okay?" Claire quickly wrapped her arms around him and then scurried off, leaving him to wonder what that hug was all about and whether or not he was ready to give all this up. He watched as she crossed the street, already worrying about whether she would be okay alone tonight.

It wasn't safe here, not amongst the memories of the past and the dangers of the present. They were being followed, Sylar would have been a fool to believe the company would give up so easily. No, they were there, lurking in every city they stopped at just waiting for just the right moment to strike. He wouldn't be able to protect her forever and that pained him more than he could understand.

A long time ago, he had entertained the notion of being a hero of the people. Right here in this very city, this very plaza, back when Peter was about to explode and kill thousands of people. They were all there, watching as the younger boy went into a panic, his hands glowing with the powers he had empathically taken from Ted.

"Wait, no!" Sylar could see Peter in his mind now, his hands a fiery red and fear etched across his forehead. He screamed out to whoever or whatever could stop the power from building; it was uncontrollable, the explosion imminent. At that time, neither knew that Nathan would eventually come and save the world. They only knew that time was running out. "No!"

Sylar had laughed, getting to his feet, finding the whole thing amusing as hell. Yet, in that moment, he knew he had the power to stop Peter, to be the hero, to save the day. He only needed to kill him, slay the dragon and be the people's white knight. "Turns out you're the villain, Peter. I'm the hero."

He didn't save anyone that day. Perhaps it was because he was too pissed off after Hiro stabbed him with a sword to think straight and staying alive long enough to take his next breath soon took top priority as blood drained from his open wound. Or maybe, the better answer was that he wouldn't have stopped anything from happening that day if he could have. Hell, he probably would have stopped Nathan from intervening as well.

Because he lied. He was the villain. Sylar knew it right down to his very soul, if he even had a soul anymore, after all he had done. So, why was he trying to be one now? Why was he afraid to fail this girl? Why was he bothering to attempt to get help from someone he knew would just as likely kill him as talk to him?

He exploded a ball of radiation outward from his hand, feeling the power that came from that release. At least he could access those part of himself again. His powers were certainly an asset he didn't want to be without when he went to talk to Mohinder.

It wouldn't be long before they faltered again though. He could feel the rise and fall of his abilities these days and was becoming accustomed to them failing when he most needed them to work. So why was he wasting time, helping this girl when he needed to do greater things with his powers before they failed completely and possibly forever?

Sylar thought of his mother and the small apartment she used to live in, the one in which he killed her. He never returned home after that day. Someone else was living there now probably, his old family and old life boxed up and carted away. He tried to play the hero that day too. It didn't turn out that well. She died in his arms, taking her last breath as she renounced her son.

He practically begged his mother to let him stay home that evening, to keep him there in Queens without sending him out into the world, searching for some kind of meaning in life that he would never find. He suggested a rest from that life, from being Sylar. He wanted to be himself again. "I'm tired of traveling. I think I might stay here."

"In Queens? Why would you ever come back?" She wanted more for him, he wasn't special enough in her eyes. He couldn't exist forever as plain, old Gabriel. There was always something more around the corner, some dream of hers he need to fulfill. If only she had known the price it would cost to make those dreams come true.

"If I stayed, maybe I could stop. Maybe I wouldn't have to.." He had trailed off, his voice leaving him. She couldn't know the truth and he couldn't speak it. He couldn't stay there, even if she asked him to. Murder was already in his blood, he'd tasted it and knew how wonderful it made him feel. It was the only thing that made him feel much of anything these days.

Except that girl. Claire.

Something in him refused to let her down. So, whether he liked going back to the place where it all started or asking for help from the worthless son of a worthless man, he'd do what he needed to make it right and sacrifice what he must.

He raised another ball of energy in his hands, playing with it and watching it glow. The streets were crowded tonight but no one saw the man in the shadows illuminated by his own power. This city wasn't ready for him; it never would be. Hopefully, Mohinder would at least be hospitable once he arrived. Getting the child to cooperate might be a problem, considering he killed her parents once long ago. They could be manipulated, though, worked over until they did what he demanded.

His photographic memory recalled a Robert Frost poem, something he'd read years ago, as the wind whipped at his long, black coat. His voice slowly recalled the words, pausing over each one with depth and meaning as he left Kirby Plaza. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep."

Sylar would not rest until Claire was back with her family, as she belonged.

* * *

After a little digging, Sylar tracked Mohinder back to the small, crowded apartment in Brooklyn he now stood outside. Apartment 631. He knew the place all too well, after spending a few nights there pretending to be Zane. It was where Mohinder and him used to regroup before going out to search for more special people with abilities. Mohinder would research genetics and genomes long into the night, while Sylar slept and dreamt about each new ability he would absorb into his own body.

Then there were the nights spent staying up and talking to each other. He never let his mask drop. He was a pretty good actor, lying came naturally to him. So good in fact, that Mohinder didn't realized the person responsible for killing all those people and for killing his father was in his apartment, using his things and befriending him.

Mohinder was a decent actor himself. Sylar didn't know Mohinder figured out his real identity until he was drinking spiked Chai. After Sylar woke from the affects of the sleeping agent, their relationship only worsened. His ex-friend and betrayer had set about trying to torture him for the crime of killing his father. Somehow Sylar didn't think that was something they could brush aside so easily, even after all this time.

His hand hesitated before knocking, listening inside with his superhearing, waiting for some kind of sign that this was the right thing to do. He could hear an argument going on, between Mohinder and his adopted daughter.

"It's my body and I'll pierce whatever I feel like piercing," the teenager screamed, stomping across the apartment floor. A door slammed, probably her bedroom. Lighter footsteps followed her and then stopped short. Sylar heard Mohinder sigh, muttering something in Indian to himself.

"Molly, come out here right now. We need to sit down and discuss this decision of yours." Her father didn't seem to be getting anywhere, since the bedroom door remained shut. "Would you like me to get Matt on the telephone? I'll call him up right now and tell him what you did. I can promise you he won't be anymore happy about this situation than I am."

Sylar smirked to himself, the argument amusing him to no end. The situation was about to get a heck of a lot worse. His hand tapped on the door, alerting the occupants to his arrival. When Mohinder was heard coming to answer the door, Sylar straightened up, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. He figured he would lead with his Gabriel-mask, all meek and seeking forgiveness. There would be time later to slip into something more violent if a new direction was needed after he talked to them.

The door opened and Mohinder could only stand there, taking in the sight of his old enemy with wide eyes that displayed their deep brown color. His chin dropped, gapping at the sight. "Sylar." He hissed out his words with more vehemence than Sylar thought possible. "What are you doing here? I thought the company killed you years ago. By all accounts, they should have, at least."

"Primatech couldn't keep me down for long. You know what they say, only the good die young." Sylar was leaning slightly to the right, peering over Mohinder's shoulder at the closed bedroom door. The girl was in there, with the power that he needed to make things right. "I need to borrow the girl. She has something I need. It's for a friend of mine."

The door slammed in his face. Mohinder obviously didn't want to listen to Sylar anymore. Sylar shrugged, at least he had made an attempt to play nice. From behind the door, Sylar heard him rushing to the phone and dialing the first of three numbers.

That did it. It was time to play hard ball.

Phasing through the door, he stepped into the apartment, tossing the phone across the room with a thought. It scattered into a multitude of broken pieces. "I thought we were friends, Mohinder. I came here for help and I get the door shut in my face. I don't like being turned away. You have what I need, the girl--"

"You'll get no help from me. You're a murder. You won't get another step near Molly." As he spoke, Mohinder was slowly stepping towards his daughter's door, blocking the way into her room. Sylar could hear Molly behind the door, listening to their conversation.

"Do you remember the last time I was in this apartment?" Sylar stepped towards the kitchen, picking up a mug of what appeared to be coffee with his telekinesis. He spoke in a faraway voice, recalling times from long ago. "Do you ever think of that day? I told you something then, what was it? That I wasn't begging for my life. I was offering you yours."

He flicked his finger and the mug dashed across the apartment. It would have hit Mohinder, if the man didn't duck. Coffee splattered across the wall, bursting from the broken mug as it slammed into the wall. Sylar cocked his head to the side, studying the pattern.

"I'm doing the same now. I won't beg. I never do. And unless you want Molly to end up an orphan yet again, you'll do what I ask of you. Now go get her." He waited for his demands to be met, patiently and with deadly calm.

The bedroom door started moving, as a girl with red hair inched it open so she could see the scene play out. She'd heard it all and seemed to be coming out by herself. She was a good little girl, she would play along where Mohinder would not. At least one of them had brains enough not to deny him what he wanted.

Mohinder ran to the door, slamming it shut and locking his daughter in her room where she would be safe. He yelled through the door, worry seeping out of every syllable. "Molly! Stay in there, I can handle this man." He turned back to Sylar, ready to sacrifice anything necessary in order to save his daughter. Though he should have been shaking in his shoes by now, he starred down his opponent with an immense fortitude of courage and experience. "I've dealt with him before."

"And we all know how well that ended." Sylar laughed. "You would have been killed if Peter hadn't showed up, your white knight coming to save your pathetic ass." He grabbed Mohinder by the throat, pulling him up off the floor. The man choked against his hold, his two hands reaching out to grab Sylar's fingers trying desperately to pull them away. "This could have gone so better for you. I wasn't planning on getting violent, Claire seems to have a thing against using force for some reason."

"Claire?" Mohinder squeezed out, through his tightened wind pipe.

"Yes, Claire!" Sylar threw him across the room, watching as he landed against a bookcase and then collapsed to the floor. "She's the reason I'm here, the reason I'm trying to do the right thing. We were in Primatech together. I rescued her."

Mohinder held a hand to his head, picking himself up off the floor by using the bookshelf as leverage. He clung to one of the shelves as he regained his balance. He looked confused, but then he was always a bit too slow for his own good. "That can't be possible. The Bennets were killed by an armed robber in their home over two years ago. Claire's dead."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Must I remind you that you thought that I was dead too. Have you never heard of the words 'cover up'? The company's been doing this for decades now, they've got kidnapping people down to a science by now. I need to find out where Peter's been keeping himself these days because I know he's still alive. He's the only family Claire has left."

"You've escaped from the company and you want me to think you're going after an old enemy because of a girl?" Mohinder frowned, displaying complete disbelief. "And you want Molly to help you in going after him? Excuse me if I don't exactly jump at the chance to help you track him down."

Sylar threw his hands up, shaking his head, "What is wrong with you? All I need to do is ask Molly to find one person, one stupid person and then I'll be out of your hair. You can go on playing house after I leave. That's all I'm asking for and you can't even give me that. You're pathetic."

A slim, red-haired teenager emerging into the living room. Her eyebrow was newly pierced and she had a new attitude to go with it. This wasn't the little girl he'd tried to murder so many years ago, she was stronger now. He could see it in her eyes. "I'll help you, Sylar. But then you leave my family alone and never bother us again."

"Molly! What are you doing? You can't trust him!" Mohinder seethed, coming to stand beside his daughter, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. She showed no signs of backing out of her offer though, bringing her atlas to the coffee table. She sat down on the couch and opened it in front of her.

Mohinder sat on the couch beside her, ready to strike out if Sylar so much as took a step towards them. Every fiber of his being was pulled taut, would up tightly on a hair trigger. He still wasn't convinced that this was the right thing to do. "I don't think this is a wise idea, Molly."

Sylar stood in the living room, eager to watch her work. "Shut up, Mohinder."

"Dad, he needs help. Haven't you always told me that heroes always help those in need?" Molly pleaded with her father, trying to make him see what she did. Then, starring up at the enemy, she said pointedly. "Besides, we do this for him and he might leave quietly."

"She's right. It's the only way to get me out of here without killing anyone. And really, who needs that?" Sylar smiled devilishly. He was so close. If Mohinder only kept quiet a little longer and let his daughter get to work, Sylar could leave and get back to his journey. There wasn't anymore need for violence; he would be getting what he needed in a few short moments.

Molly opened the book, going into a semi-trance as she narrowed down her search to the right page. If only he could have stolen this power when he killed the rest of her family; it seemed so very useful. Her hands stopped on a map, roads and streets

making a criss cross pattern below her fingers. She moved her finger north along an unfamiliar interstate. "Peter's in Maine. I see pine trees. Lots of them."

Sylar grinned a wide smile. Peter was alive. He never thought he would be this happy to know that one of the Petrelli's were still breathing. But it offered the first piece of tangible proof yet for him and Claire. It also proved that he was correct, which was an added bonus. He rather liked being right.

"That's remarkable." Mohinder seemed just as surprised to know that Peter was still alive. Apparently, the idea to back up all the cover stories he heard with his daughter's skills never occurred to him. "After what I heard--"

"Shh!" Sylar cut him off, gesturing with his hand for quiet. He turned his attention back to Molly, in wonder of her extraordinary skill and not wanting the process to be disrupted. "Let the girl work. Where in Maine is he, Molly?"

Her finger followed I-95 north and then made a left turn towards Route 202. "He's by a lake. He's in a cabin by the lake." She stopped her finger, marking the right spot with her eyes still closed. When she opened them, Molly read the place name under her finger. "Sebago Lake, Maine. By the north side in a wooden cabin. Number 278 on Mondor Road. It's a nice place, from what I saw."

"Oh, Molly, thank you!" Sylar could have kissed her, right then and there, but thought better of it when he saw the way Mohinder was eying him. If he made any sudden moves now, he was not going to be able to leave in such a happy mood. "If there's anything I can ever do for you--"

She shut the book abruptly and stood up with her hands on her hips. "You could start by not killing my parents, but oh, I guess it's a little too late for that." Her attitude displayed all her hatred for him. This wound he caused in her would never heal. He could almost admire his handiwork, the way he crafted this hate in her. She pointed to the door, "For now, you can just get out of here and never show your face around this part of New York again. Understood?"

"If that's what you want." Sylar nodded, reaching a perfect common ground. He could feel her eyes boring hole in the back of his neck as he left. Mohinder walked him to the door, both of them eager to end this meeting. Auld acquaintances should most definitely have been forgotten.

Sylar attempted to phase out the door but the tangibility of the hardwood prevented his grand exit. He was once again unable to access his powers. He frowned and wondered if Mohinder caught his slip up. He reached for the door handle quickly but with as much nonchalance as possible. There was no telling what the other man might do if he knew Sylar's powers weren't working right. Opening the door, he stepped out into the hallway.

Mohinder joined him in the hallway. He was in full-on scientist mode by the time they got outside. "I saw that, Sylar. You attempted to phase out of the apartment. Did something happen to your powers?"

There was no way he was going to tell the truth here, to this man. The last time Mohinder thought him powerless, he had woken up strapped to a chair with a gun shoved in his face. Sylar couldn't stop an angry comment from slipping through his lips though. "That's between me and Primatech."

Mohinder nodded, thinking but let that topic of conversation thankfully die out. Before Sylar could leave, Mohinder asked, "Is what you say about Claire true?"

"Which part?"

"The part about her still being alive." Mohinder whispered, closing the apartment door so the two of them could talk more privately. "I knew her father, Noah Bennett. We were trying to take down the company together when he was killed. I should have explored more of the details surrounding his death, but I believed what the police said. Too much living with Matt made them seem infallible, I suppose. Noah made me promise a long time ago, that should anything ever happen to him, I would take care of her or at least find her a safe place to go."

"Don't worry, Mohinder." Sylar told him. "I'm taking care of her and will do so until I can get her to Peter. Then she's his problem. You seem to have enough to deal with that one kid in there. Piercing her eyebrow, oh dear, what will she think of next. The little rebel." He laughed at her attempt to be bad, knowing that if she were raised by Mohinder she would never be quite up to Sylar's level of rebellion. "I never figured you for a father. I thought you were a little too inept for that."

Mohinder glared at him, saying nothing. The topic didn't seem something he wanted to discuss readily, which only made it more interesting and amusing. Before walking back into his apartment, Mohinder angrily replied. "Tell Claire where to find me. She shouldn't have to rely solely on a murder for support. If she chooses to stay with you, that's her choice."

The door closed shut behind him and several locks were clicked into place. The past was finally removed from his view, shoved away so he wouldn't have to think of it anymore. Sylar was glad. Good riddance to a friendship that was as old as it was useless.

The final obstacle to finding Peter was behind him now. Sylar finally held proof that Peter was alive. He wasn't that far away either. He couldn't wait to share this news with Claire. It was her lucky day, it seemed. And he would get to play the hero for a little longer.

..to be continued..


	14. Chapter 14

Even the nightlife of the gritty East Village died down this late in the evening. Only the last remnants of the freaks and the weirdoes remained, along with the streetwalkers and the homeless bums out searching for a place to call home tonight.

There were others too, more sinister ones that hid in the shadows, waiting in the dark alleys to snatch their prey up. A wandering, young thing, leaving a club after getting a little too drunk would be fair game to these rapists, murderers and common thieves.

Gabriel would never have come down this way this late at night before he became a killer himself. Even if he had been so bold as to travel here after dark, Gabriel was never late coming home. Always on time, usually before the sunset, he was a good little choirboy. That way his mother wouldn't worry about him. Not that she did. She would rather her son be out on the town, taking in the sights like some rich socialite and having late night business dinners with his important colleagues. Or whatever stupid daydream she had come up with that week.

Compelled to take the road less traveled, he now knew the joy taking human life brought. He could empathize with the evil out there in the corners of the city; he belonged to it. Amongst the monsters of the streets and those that hid, awaiting their victims in darkened alleyways, Sylar felt right at home. Whatever wanted to go bump in the night, he was ready for the nice distraction it would bring.

He wouldn't have to wait long. Sylar could feel someone following him down the darkened street, though they didn't feel ready to announce themselves just yet. He knew this stalking was all part of the job of being a monster; they needed to size their prey up first. They were in for a very unpleasant evening when they moved on to the next step and decided to strike.

He would hold back on his powers until then. Maybe let them think he was scared, a lone watchmaker in the bad part of the city, helpless except for the power of his telekinesis. Then they would hurt like they'd never felt pain before, screaming as he ripped them apart and shredded them to pieces. After all, Claire never said he couldn't kill in self-defense.

Eventually, the feeling of being watched stopped and Sylar thought they might have given up. He laughed, wondering what had scared them off so easily. He never would have let a victim go that quickly. He turned a corner and saw a man in an expensive wool suit, standing on the opposite side of the street.

He didn't belong there, with his fine taste in clothes and his big shot mannerisms. He didn't look afraid to be there though, as if all the dangers of this part of the city and the creeps that walked these streets didn't bother him. He seemed absorbed in the conversation he was having on his cell phone but every so often he would look up at Sylar. They sized each other up and Sylar knew it was this man who had been following him.

"He's spotted me. Send the van."

The man spoke in hushed tones, covering his mouth with his hand as he spoke. Sylar's superhearing still picked up on it, alerting him to the danger and the need for fight or flight. Within sheer seconds, a black van made a right turn onto the street, speeding down the street towards the both of them.

Primatech.

Sylar stopped and watched as the man in the business suit stopped to signal to them, pointing towards him. He saw the man's mouth move but couldn't hear what he said against the murmuring of the van's engine.

Thinking quickly, Sylar reached out for the first large object he saw and attempted to hurl it at the van with his mind. He grabbed at the metal lamppost but couldn't make the connection in his mind. Pointing to the lamppost one last time, Sylar still couldn't budge it. His power was gone and his options were running out. "Shit! Not now!"

Without thinking about anything but escape, Sylar took off running down the street, taking a right down the first crossroad he approached. When he got a few blocks down, he leaned his back against the brick wall of a building, catching his breath and feeling like a coward. They made him run. They actually made him run. He punched the brick with his fist until his knuckles started bleeding, before realizing that it wasn't making him any less angry.

It didn't take too long for the van to spot him again and although he didn't want to run, Sylar couldn't think of any other alternative. He wouldn't be locked up again, poked and prodded while four years of his life went up in smoke, four years of his life he would never get back again. The past haunted him, what they did to him kept coming back in vivid colors. They weren't going to catch him again just so they could stick needles in him again, run their tests and see what made him tick. He couldn't let that happen again.

He couldn't outrun the van though. He crossed another street, noticing an taxi that had its off-duty light on. He stood in the middle of the road, waving the taxi down while Primatech caught up with him. The taxi honked its horn angrily but Sylar stood there, palms out to stop it. The taxi only zoomed around him, leaving him in its dust.

"Son of a bitch!" Sylar screamed out at the passing car. He just wanted a ride, back to the hotel so he could get Claire and get out of this city. As he saw the van nearing him, Sylar wasn't sure he would be able to live past this night. He wouldn't get to tell Claire the good news and see her face light up, maybe get a smile for all his hard work. That was just unacceptable.

He backed up as the van caught him in its headlights. It parked on the road and its doors opened, releasing a group of army soldiers, each one carrying their own weapon. Sylar spun around, noticing a subway entrance not too far down the block and made a break for it. He only hoped a train would be along soon.

"Gabriel Gray, stop where you are. My name is Prescott. I'm here to escort you back to the company, where you belong." A man called out to him. It sounded like the same one who had made the phone call earlier. He was so close, Sylar could hear him cocking back his gun and feel it aimed for his head. "Don't make us use force. You won't enjoy that very much, I can assure you."

This did nothing to deter Sylar from thoughts of escape. The man was wrong. He didn't belong to Primatech. How could anyone belong in a ten-by-ten fish tank, never seeing sunlight, while those suits and scientists took careful, measured notes about everything their good little guinea pigs did? It was absurd and he would rather die than go back.

He kept running, taking the stairs two at a time, until he came across a gate barring the entrance of the subway platform. A sign hung across the bars of the gate. 'Closed for Repairs,' it read, mocking him. Sylar could hear the small army of Primatech marching down the stairs after him, led by Prescott and an unwavering conviction. He was blocked in there with no way out, but he still refused to give up.

He wrapped his hands tightly around the gate, rattling it against the walls with so much force that his fingers hurt. It wouldn't move. It was solid, stuck there, trapping him in a nice little cage. Already, he was in a cage and it was one that he had run into himself, too. "Son of a bitch, I'm going to fucking destroy the person who decided to put this here. I'll rip their body in two.. massacre every last one of their family members.."

"You'll do nothing of the sort. Once you're carted off to Primatech, the world will be safe from you again." Prescott spoke, but did not step forward to claim his captive just yet. He was enjoying this moment, watching his future victim realize that he'd run out of hope. Sylar used to love that feeling, back when he was the one in charge.

Sylar did his best to ignore him and raged at his confines. He kicked the gate, punched it, body-slammed it and as a last ditch effort, attempted to use his telekinesis to remove it from his path. Nothing worked. Without his powers, he wasn't much of a threat to anyone or anything, not even this simple metal gate that served no purpose but to block him inside with the enemy. He was useless.

Sylar put his fingers through the gate again, his body sagging against the cool metal. Resting his head on his forearm, he looked out over the subway platform and the track where he hoped for the train to arrive. It wouldn't now. His plans were cut short, even though he was so close. So very close.

He could sense them behind him, a dozen or more Primatech employees, all aiming their weapons at him, readying to take him back to hell on earth. This was it; Sylar had run as far as he could, there was no place left for him to go. His voice was low, a barely audible whisper. It betrayed the courage his words meant to take on. "I'm not afraid of you."

"No," Prescott replied. He spoke with so much disdain it seemed to leak out of his voice, dirtying the ground. "I suspect you wouldn't be. Fear is an emotion, one only real humans can feel. Freaks like you wouldn't understand things like that, would they? Now turn around, nice and slow and put your hands in the air."

Sylar raised his hands, taking a slow breath before greeting the man who was going to take him back. This was the ambush he had feared was coming ever since leaving the compound and running away with Claire. He thought of Claire, of how Primatech beat her down and nearly broke her spirit. He could be strong for her sake. He wouldn't let these people break him, not again. He cocked his head to the side, "I suppose you want a prize for capturing me. Are you going to get a nice little gold star next to your name at work? Some big, fat promotion?"

"The reward is in the work." The man pointed his taser gun at Sylar, clicking the setting up to the highest level. "And this is just another day at the office."

Before Sylar could reply, the gun went off, sending a bolt of white searing-hot energy into his stomach. He fell backwards, colliding with the gate before collapsing to his knees. His hands clutched his side where the taser bolt hit. There were no singe marks but as he coughed, little droplets of blood fell from his mouth and onto the pavement around him. Catching his breath, Sylar mumbled through the pain, "Bastard."

Prescott hovered above him, an unyielding presence through the pain. He held the taser gun at point blank range as Sylar rolled over onto his back, starring up helplessly. As the man pulled the trigger of his gun and sent another bolt of energy through him, Sylar couldn't help but think that this was how turtles died. Poor, little insignificant turtles. On their backs, unable to move.

Luckily, he blacked out before the pain coursing through his body could register in his mind. The blackness overtook him. He was in Primatech's custody once again.

..to be continued..


	15. Chapter 15

"Gabriel." A faint sound broke the cocoon of silence and safety, intruding into the blackness to reach for him and drag him out. It had no right to do that, no right to take the last precious moments of his pain-free existence away. It had no right but there it was on the edge of his awareness, taunting him. Sylar eluded its grasp, crawling further into unconsciousness to hide from what he only vaguely knew was waiting out there. It called to him a second time, growing more impatient. "Wake up, Gabriel."

Sylar refused again, wrapped up in his attempt to put the night's events in order. Sleepiness and numbing pain confused the order and reason of things.. There was a gun, this much he remembered. No, not a gun, a taser. And Mohinder.. but was Mohinder before or after the gun.. he wasn't sure. Couldn't be sure of anything right now. He moaned lethargically.

"Gabriel!"

His eyes snapped open, bodily sensations flooding back to him in rapid succession. The rope that held his arms tied above his head and tethered to the ceiling jerked, making him sway on his tiptoes. His chest rose and fell, a scream stuck in his throat as he was thrust back into the waking world. He couldn't scream, he quickly reminded himself and shut his mouth. Not here. It would only amuse his captors.

The pain in his arms from being held in that position, with all his weight hanging on his wrists, made him stop struggling. Each jerk of the rope pulled on his arms so he remained as still as possible, blinking away the fogginess as he narrowed his eyes at the only other man in this abandoned warehouse. "You. You're the bastard that shot me with that taser gun!"

"Watch your language, Gabriel. We'll have no power plays here." The older gentleman replied, standing up from his chair. Clasping his hands together, he continued with practiced refinement. "But you are correct. I am Mr. Prescott, co-facilitator of Primatech's Import Department. And you are--" He snatched up a thick manila folder from off a nearby table. Rifling through the papers, Prescott spouted out known information in an effort to unnerve his captive. "Gabriel Gray. Born May 29, 1977 in Brooklyn, New York to Virginia and Glen Gray. You are a single child, no brothers, no sisters, no friends. Your parents divorced when you were fifteen. At the age of 29, you met a man named Chandra Suresh who helped you to discover your ability of Intuitive Aptitude--"

"I've heard this before. Lived it not so long ago too. So, unless you have any new information for me about me, let's just end this here." Sylar raised himself on his toes, needing release from the tightness of the rope. It was leaving burn marks around his wrists, pulling at the skin. Nevertheless, he forced a bored yawn.

Prescott abruptly punched him across the face, interrupting Sylar's show of yawning. Sylar's lip cracked open and a thin trail of blood rolled down his chin. Showing no surprise at the act, Sylar only laughed for all his ruined plans. He watched as Prescott pondered over his sanity, laughing was probably not the first thing his other captives did when they woke up. Sylar would always be different though.

Careful not to spill the folder of notes the company kept on Sylar, the man continued. "All these years of living within the company's walls and you still have not learned how to keep your mouth shut. It's a pity." His eyes traveled up to the ropes that held Sylar bound and in his control. "You wouldn't be here in this predicament if you learned to follow orders."

"Does it really matter if I'm stuck here or in some cell down in Primatech?" Sylar glanced at the ceiling, wondering how much wiggling it would take to undo his bonds. He sighed; it was no use. If the ropes wouldn't budge, they would only yank his arms out of their sockets if he struggled too much. That would be a step in a very wrong and painful direction. If only he could access his powers but while the rest of his body seemed to wake up again, his powers still lay dormant. "This 'predicament' only stems from the fact that you people refuse to leave me alone."

"Do you really think we should do that and risk the liability to the rest of the world's population?" Prescott was circling him like a vulture waiting to pick his bones apart. He opened the folder once again, reading off a list of names. "Brian Davis. Chandra Suresh. Charlie Andrews. Zane Taylor. Dale Smither. Isaac Mendez. Ted Sprague.."

Sylar closed his eyes, memories of each of the murders coming into his mind's eye. Those moments were highlights of his life. The carefully planned out attack, the screaming, the way the victims looked when they breathed their last breath. It was almost orgasmic.

Prescott's fists balled up. Things were beginning to get personal, which was just as well. Sylar knew that people made their biggest slip ups when things were taken to a more intimate level. "And countless others.. including several of my close associates in Odessa only days ago.. all of these people are dead. Because of you. And you think you can get off with a warning? We only do what we do so that we can protect ordinary citizens from monsters such as you."

Even though so much pleasure came from those acts, defending himself in front of Prescott would not work. Sylar changed his tactic, fighting philosophy with his own convictions. "What about Claire, then? What did she do to deserve your treatment?"

Prescott finished his circle around Sylar, coming to stand right in front of him. He made a note in Sylar's case files, having heard something that peeked his interest. "Emotional empathy. That's surprising, given your past history of egotism and conceit. Is that another trick you picked up from someone? The ability to actually have feelings, to care?"

Sylar shut his mouth, afraid he may have said too much. Primatech didn't know of Claire's whereabouts or that she was with him. Not until he spoke and blew the whole thing. Things were getting personal; he was slipping up. He shut his eyes, whispering an apology to the girl in his head.

As much as Sylar was pained to admit that a company employee possessed any brainpower, Prescott was most assuredly right. He was caring about people, about her. Damn. Perhaps it really was an ability he'd stolen from one of the dead or a trick his own mind was playing on him.

He opened his eyes once more, murder in his gaze as he spoke with deadly accuracy. He knew what Prescott was thinking. Sylar wouldn't stand for it. "Don't you even think of touching her."

Prescott only laughed at him, amused by this false show of strength. They both knew there wasn't anything Sylar could do to stop the company from doing what it wanted. If Claire was what they wanted, they would do anything to lock her up in one of their little, claustrophobic prisons. Sylar fought against his binds again, new rage pushing him to act. His little rebellion only resulted in sharp pain shooting up through his arms. Sylar winced but the ropes held tight.

Sylar's voice lowered, growing all the more serious, "My powers aren't going to be gone forever. When they come back, I'm going to kill you like I did to all those others. And, if you so much as think of going after Claire before I get them back, your death will be a slow one."

"You're not getting your powers back, Gabriel. Not until Primatech's through with you." Prescott smiled, in on a secret he had not shared yet. "You've been noticing a lack of abilities I presume, or else you would have been able to get out of that rather ridiculously easy trap we set for you last night. It's the long-term effects of the Cybexeine in your system. You had been taking that for four years prior to your escape, correct?"

Sylar grit his teeth and nodded, wordlessly. A stupid move on his part but he agreed to play along with the company back when he was in their care. It was only supposed to be for a few days, until he could figure out how to get out of there. Then days turned to weeks, weeks to months and years. They'd been breaking him down, little by little. It was his own fault for submitting like that and he hated himself for it.

"This drug, the Cybexeine, kept your powers from emerging as it killed off those connections in your brain. It was part of your treatment plan, in order to keep you under control. Unfortunately, stopping the drug does not mean you will automatically get your powers back because its withdrawal can be erratic. Most often you'll have short bursts of abilities during withdrawal, until they stop completely and forever."

This whole interrogation was designed to terrify him but the company had not yet pushed him over that line yet. Not until Prescott gave him that last bit of news. Everything special about him was wrapped up in his powers. Without them, he would be plain old Gabriel for the rest of his life, the clumsy watchmaker's son. He sagged in his bonds, the physical agony of placing more weight on his wrists not even able to touch the new emotional anguish. "So, that's it.. I'm going to be.. normal?"

"Not necessarily." Prescott went to retrieve a vial from his bag, filled with a red liquid. He passed it in front of Sylar's face, letting the other man see it. "We've developed this other drug, Troflexim. It strengthens the pathways in the brain that are connected to special abilities. We've used it to bring out natural abilities in the kids of enhanced humans; those we think might one day exhibit their own. Our scientists believe it will help to fix what the other drug broke. You could have your powers back, Gabriel."

The vial of medicine suddenly became a thing of vital importance. Sylar was unable to turn his eyes away from it. Meat in front of a starving dog, this offered the last chance at salvation and the return to his previous life. Prescott seemed to enjoy playing with it in front of him, teasing him with the cure. Sylar blinked, forcing himself to turn away. He frowned, knowing this next part of the conversation would hold no joy for him. "I know you're not going to give it to me out of the kindness of your heart. What do you want me to do in order to get my reward?"

"You've been protecting a girl, which is quite unlike you considering the report the company psychologist put in your files. We need Claire Bennett back in our custody." He shrugged, the situation so simple to him. "All we are asking you to do is live up to your true nature. Stop trying to save her. Give up the girl; get the prize. It's your choice."

Sylar glanced back at the vial, letting it nearly hypnotize him. It was right there in front of him, the answer to his problems. Everything he'd always loved about himself was sheer inches away from his grasp. His abilities could be cured by that medicine, the beautiful bubbling red liquid would enter his veins, course through his mind, fix him up and they'd get him on his feet again. The company wouldn't be able to touch him after that, nobody would.

Then, he thought of Claire and his promise to her. He knew where to find Peter now. He could get her there and she would be safe again. Primatech already did enough damage to her in the past. She had nightmares; he'd woken up a few times to her whimpering during the few nights they'd spent together. He would watch her until she settled back down again, hating Primatech all the while.

If she reentered their captivity, Claire would lose whatever was left of her and never be able to put herself back together again. No matter how much he wanted that cure, his own stupid protective urge refused to yield. "Get another lackey. I don't work for you."

Prescott nodded, obviously prepared for this possibility. "Let's set this aside for now then." He placed the vial on the table, only a few feet away from Sylar, well within his eyesight. It taunted him, keeping its secrets of special abilities and immense power hidden from his mind. "I'll come back in a little while and we'll see if you haven't changed your mind by then."

With the trap laid and the bait set, Prescott walked away and dialed a number on his cell phone. Sylar wished he could make out what he was talking about or to whom. It might have aided him in his escape. It was most likely Primatech, discussing their plans for Sylar with their top field employee. Once upon a time, he would have easily picked up on their conversation but those powers were lost to him now.

He growled, anger seizing every part of him, as he carefully watched the medicine sitting on the table so unassumingly making him lose his willpower. He worked at the knots around his wrists, seeing if any of them would loosen and give him a little space to slip his hands through. After struggling for a few minutes, Sylar sighed and eyed the vial. As stubborn as Sylar could be, this temptation was going to take a restraint he wasn't sure he possessed.

..to be continued..


	16. Chapter 16

Claire waited until three in the morning for Sylar to return to the hotel. She took a shower, perused the room service menu, watched some reruns on tv until finally shutting out the lights and starring at the ceiling, wondering where the hell he could be. The ceiling starred right back at her, offering no answers.

Something wasn't right. It tickled the back of her spine, setting off her intuition and making her unable to close her eyes and relax. She took a breath and counted up the minutes and hours it would have taken him to get to Kirby Plaza to Mohinder's apartment and back to the hotel. It wouldn't have taken seven hours, that's for damn sure.

She jumped out of bed, throwing the bed covers off of her and started pacing. Claire needed to move, to walk, to throw all her worried energy into something physical. And she needed answers. Then she spotted it a New York City White Pages phone book, sticking out of the nightstand.

She made a quick grab for it and spread the book out on the bed, flipping to the back of the alphabet. The pages brushed her fingers rapidly, as she made her way through the S-section. Sanders. Smith. Sulu. Her finger stopped on the page with the heading Sur-Sus and moved down the book, scanning until her eye came across the number Claire was looking for. Tapping the book, she nodded, "Suresh."

The best chance she had in finding Sylar was tracing his footsteps. He said he was going to Mohinder Suresh's apartment; she would start there. It was the only clue she could go on. At least, if Claire talked to Suresh, she would at least know if Sylar had been there yet. Not that she really knew what to expect when she met Dr. Suresh, seeing as how she doubted the two men were all that close. At best, Suresh knew where to find him or could point her in the right direction. At worst, Claire sighed, Sylar and Suresh had gotten into an altercation of some sort and they were both dead.

She wondered, not for the first time that week, whether she ought to find a better traveling companion. Maybe there was someone out there she could share the road with who didn't go around hurting people and worrying her sick when they were out all night. Sylar was the one who saved her though. He'd been there for her when there was no one else, watching over her and making sure she didn't get herself killed. Claire owed him at least this much.

After making sure the address was the right one, Claire got off the bed and riffled through the nearby mahogany desk that was pushed up against the far side of the room. Lifting the room service menu from the stack of other papers on the desk, Claire found a pad and pen, both barring the logo of the Marriott Hotel. After rushing back to the phone book, she scribbled the address on the pad of paper.

Claire knew only the bare minimum about the city or how to navigate in it. Even though both her biological father and uncle were born and bred there, she nevertheless was a Texas, and then a California, girl. It didn't matter. She'd find the apartment, ask her questions and make sure that everyone was okay.

She starred at the clock and then the phone, wondering if she should call now and wake Suresh and his family up this late at night. It wouldn't do to barge in on them now. Plus, Claire sighed, she was probably worrying for no reason. Sylar was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

She looked over at the other bed as it lay empty. "I'll give you until morning."

* * *

Sleep did not come easily that night. She knew he would only fault her for rushing into things and thinking he couldn't handle things on his own. Still, she thought of all the things he promised to do for her: keep her safe, talk to Suresh, find Peter. Guilt set in when she realized there was little she could do for him. He was so in charge of things, headstrong and powerful and she was.. she hated to think of what she was.

Claire tossed in bed, knowing it was the company that put those thoughts of her low self worth in her head. It was them who made her feel like she wasn't enough for anyone, even Sylar. Still, she couldn't escape those feelings, they clung to her and refused to let go.

Eventually she fell asleep and dreamed of tiny cells and laughing guards, needles and family members both missing and dead. She was always running in her dreams, always had to keep one step ahead and hide and get away. Primatech was always right behind her but she had a secret plan. She had a hero. He held her in his arms and she was safe and protected and loved.. and then he was gone. Gone like so many others.

In the morning, Claire woke covered in sweat as the images from her nightmare lingered within her mind. She'd dreamt this same nightmare before but she could never quite remember who her hero from her dream was once she woke up. Was it weird to have fallen in love with someone from her dreams, she wondered. People metaphorically did it all the time but literally was another matter entirely.

Claire pushed that thought aside and glanced over at the other bed. It was still neatly made, all corners tightly tucked in as only a professional hotel maid could do. It didn't look like Sylar ever returned to the hotel room at all. The time limit was up.

Once again, she was back in the waking world with all the troubles that it contained waiting to screw her over again. Mornings really sucked sometimes.

She frowned and muttered a soft curse.

* * *

On the way to the subway station, Claire decided to take a detour through Central Park. So much time had passed since she lasted walked around this city but this was the part Claire knew best. The trails of the park led straight to the Petrelli mansion, which lay just across the street from the western edge of the Great Lawn.

Claire didn't know that she would wind up there, staring up at the white brick building with it's ornate fence and warm light emanating from the inside. Her head was filled with too many thoughts to keep track of where her feet were leading her. She stared up at the mansion which once felt like a second home, feeling a sense of awe and bewilderment.

It was hard to imagine that there was a point where Claire could have walked through that door and have been welcomed by her biological father with a hug. Of course, that was after the brief year he spent denying Claire was his biological daughter. She didn't blame Nathan anymore. She'd popped back into his life unexpectedly. He wasn't prepared to come face to face with his past. Few people ever are prepared for that eventuality.

Peter made things right, somehow he always did. He argued and pleaded with Nathan to see the light. He made Nathan talk to her. After taking that small step, little by little, her father let her into his life. Things were great after that, for a little while at least. Heidi took Claire shopping in the city. Nathan taught her how to ski. Peter was always there to listen to whatever little insignificant troubles she had at the time. Such little troubles compared to now.

Claire had two families for those few years. One back in California, one in New York. Both loved her more than she felt she deserved. Both were now torn apart, lives destroyed and people murdered all because of the company's us-versus-them ideologies.

Claire reached her fingers slowly up to the gate, grabbing the bars in her tiny hands and wistfully thinking of the past. She shook the gate lightly, then more forcefully until she was screaming out in the empty streets of the early morning, railing against the end that had come too soon. "I want it back. I want my life back! Those bastards stole it. I want it back!"

A little boy pulled the curtains away from a room on the second story, probably his bedroom. That was where Simon and Monty always slept. He wasn't much older than the twins were when Claire first started visiting the mansion. She was scaring him, probably scaring the few people on the street this early in the morning too.

With a sigh, she left and continued walking quietly, avoiding stares from other pedestrians.

She didn't belong here anymore.

She never would again.

* * *

Claire starred up at the brick building and noted the number displayed above its door. She checked it against the address she wrote down on the hotel's stationary. This was the place.

Hesitation worked itself into her thoughts as she became less sure of her plan. A part of her told her to go for it, knock on the door, ask Suresh whether or not he'd seen Sylar last night and accept whatever he said. Another part told her that this wasn't right, barging in there unannounced and disrupting the geneticist's family once again. She was just another distraction from their happy home, one more issue to deal with after Sylar's intrusion.

That's what she was to people these days; an issue to be handled, an interruption of their easy-going life. She sighed, guilt had been driven into her during her days in the company. They sought to break her by telling her that she didn't matter, that she wasn't worth the time spent working on her case, that she should be ashamed of even existing. These feelings now clung to her like a black cloud over her head, impossible to ignore.

When she arrived outside of Suresh's apartment, Claire paused for a moment before knocking on the door. A dark-skinned man answered it, someone she had not seen since one memorable day down at Kirby Plaza years ago. It was the day her uncle exploded; you tend not to forget about things like that. Every bit of that day was etched on her mind, as clear as if New York City almost exploded yesterday.

"Claire?" He blinked at her sudden appearance at his door but recognized her right away. He opened his mouth to speak but was too astonished to attach words to his thoughts. Claire figured that was because of the company's cover story. It wasn't everyday you came face to face with a ghost. Moving away from the door, Suresh jumped back to the present moment and ushered her in. "Please come in, come in."

The place was cozy. It had two bedrooms, a great kitchen and enough space to raise a daughter in while getting a little business done in the small office set up in the corner. If she hadn't been in the company for so long, Claire could have seen herself settling down in an apartment much like this one and living a normal life. Her life could never be normal though. "I hope you don't mind me coming over. I found your address in the phone book."

"It's no trouble at all but I am rather surprised to see you, so you'll have to forgive my lax manners. I thought you were-- well, it doesn't matter what I thought. The important thing is that you're here." Suddenly a pot of water on the kitchen stove boiled over and Suresh busied himself. He moved some pots around and lowered the heat, making sure the water wouldn't boil over again."I was making some lunch. Do you want any? It's just rice and vegetables but Molly seems to like it."

"No, thanks. I already ate today." Claire relaxed a little. Thankfully, Suresh and his daughter both seemed to be alive and well by the way he was talking. That was half the battle. The other half was finding out where the hell Sylar went and broaching that subject with Suresh. "I actually came here to ask you something."

Suresh turned his attention back to her. "Sylar told me you escaped with the company with him. If you've decided you don't wish to be around him anymore, I can't fault you for coming to your senses. You're welcome to stay here. You don't even have to ask. We have a pull-out couch and I can take you up to see Peter tomorrow."

Claire stood there frozen. It was her turn to witness the impossible. All this time, she had followed Sylar not because she thought Peter was really alive but because she had no where else to go. Now there was proof. Proof that her uncle was out there somewhere, still alive. She swallowed happy tears and asked, "You mean.. but I thought-- oh my god."

All other thoughts and plans fell to the wayside once Peter's name was brought up. As Claire found it harder to contain her emotions and her tears began to fall, Mohinder guided her to the nearby couch in the living room. She sat down slowly, still in shock and detached from the rest of the world. None of this felt real, she couldn't connect with a single sensation in that whole moment besides the happy numbness she felt as her one last hope became a reality. "Peter-- Peter's alive?"

"Sylar didn't tell you?" Mohinder asked, annoyance coloring each word.

She blinked away tears, remembering the reason she'd traveled out to Suresh's apartment in the first place. Sylar. She came back down to earth and, if only for the moment, focused on the immediate problem. Peter could wait. Nothing could trump her need to find Sylar right now. "That's why I'm here, Doctor Suresh. I'm worried about Sylar. He never came back to the hotel this morning. I was hoping you might be able to tell me what happened when you saw him yesterday."

Claire watched as he held back, not speaking until he was sure what he wanted to say. "Claire, if Sylar is gone perhaps that's a good thing. You might not be able to understand the magnitude of the destruction he could cause in your life and the lives of others but you must know that he is not a man to follow or to trust."

He wasn't telling her anything Claire didn't know. "I don't need to trust him. I need to find him." Suresh only frowned, so she began again. "Look, I'm not a little kid anymore, I know how scary the big bad world can be. But I also know that Sylar has gotten me this far and I'm not going to leave him behind. Not until I know that he's okay."

There was a pause in the conversation, neither side being able to compromise between such differing and strong viewpoints. In the doorway of the room a teenage dressed in fuzzy purple pajamas listened in. Molly appeared to be looking at something far away, something only she could see. "He's in a warehouse, Claire."

Suresh was still unable to accept that this was the route this conversation was going to take. "Molly! If Sylar's gone, that's a good thing. Please don't make the situation worse by trying to find him for her."

"It's her choice, Dad." Molly crossed her arms and the tiny diamond nosering glinted in the light that shone from the antique south Indian bronze lamps. The teen would not take no for an answer, which explained to Claire how she was walking around with a nosering in the first place. Her defiance would hopefully pay off in Claire's favor. "If she wants to go off with some serial killer like an idiot with a death wish, that's her choice, isn't it?"

Claire narrowed her eyes at the young girl, taken back by the 'idiot with a death wish' comment.

Suresh looked unable to tell who to talk sense into first: Molly or Claire. His ideals of one's own self-determination and protecting those he cared about warred within him. Eventually, he came to his answer and sighed heavily. "You're right. I can't keep you from doing what you think is right, Claire. Even though your father asked me to take care of you after he passed, what you choose to do with your life is your choice. But, please, take some time to think over this situation with Sylar carefully before you go traipsing around the city searching for him."

Molly stepped forward with a warning. "You can't wait that long, Claire. Not if you want to find him while he's still alive."

The warning was all Claire needed to hear before making her decision. Action was needed, not deliberation. Whatever happened in their past, Sylar saved her life only days before and she couldn't walk away. Peter could wait; he didn't even know she was alive. Besides, Claire had no clue what to say to him when she did show up on his doorstep. Her voice grew frantic as her only option became clear, "Molly, where is he?"

"A warehouse in the Financial District. The corner of..." She closed her eyes, focusing on the map her mind drew for her. When she opened them again, she gave the rest of the answer. "Whitehall and South streets."

"I need to go, Mohinder." Claire said as way of apology, practically tripping over the coffee table as she hurried to the door. She would think about the philosophical ramifications of saving someone who had at one point tried to kill pretty much everyone in that room after she was done rescuing Sylar's sorry ass. The dark-skinned man followed her through the living room, one step behind as she tried to leave. This was her choice and he let her make it, even though Claire knew he disliked her answer. "I'm sorry.. I just have to do this. Don't ask me to explain. I'm not sure I could."

"Claire?"

She stopped and sighed, afraid he might have changed his mind and was ready to force her to stay there. "What?"

He retrieved his cell phone from the kitchen table and handed it to her. "If you won't listen to me, will you at least take this with you? Call me later, so I know you're still alive. And if you need my help, any at all, day or night, call Molly's cell phone. It's listed in there under her name."

Nodding in agreement, Claire took the cellphone and gripped it tightly in her hand like it would offer some protection, a shield against the forces she was going up against. There was one more person in the world to count on now. "I promise, Doctor Suresh. And thank you."

..to be continued..


	17. Chapter 17

Minutes slowed to an agonizing crawl making it impossible for Sylar to tell how long he'd been stuck in the same position, suspended from the ceiling and forced to stand on his toes because of the shortness of the rope. It was growing dark in the warehouse, the setting afternoon sun casting an eerie light on the room.

The sound of rats scurrying in the corner as they woke from slumber and started peeking out into the rest of the world, looking for food, could be made out distinctly even through Sylar's ordinary hearing. He hated rats. They always reminded him of that day on Kirby Plaza when he'd climbing into that sewer drain to wait for death. At least that would have been an honorable death, being stabbed in the middle of battle while trying to destroy the world. It beat out being snuffed by some company sycophant.

Fate gave him a second chance with that first near-death experience though. With Candice's gracious help and her illusionary parlor tricks, he'd been nursed back to almost perfect health. He'd thanked her for that kindness by attempting to take her powers, killing her in the process. Some people would just send flowers and a thank you card, but no, Sylar was different.

This is all he had to occupy his time, recalling his glory days while Prescott made some calls to figure out what the company wanted to do with him. They still had those termination papers, a formality that made them appear civilized when they so clearly were far from that idealized vision of themselves.

He attempted to switch position, stepping up with one foot and resting the other. Everything hurt. The balls of his feet were aching from arching all day as he stood on his toes. That was nothing next to the misery his arms were in though. The pain of all his weight hanging from his two wrists, as they were strung up over his head and tied to the ceiling beam was nearly unbearable. A burning ache ran all the way from his chest through his upper arms, reaching into his hands and fingers.

All day, Sylar worked at the rope, until his skin rubbed raw and drops of blood began to drip down his arms like raindrops, trickling down to his shirt and coating everything with a sticky mess. He laughed to himself, almost delirious due to the coupling of pain and dehydration. The laughing turned into harsh coughing, which made his muscles ache even more.

Prescott entered the cement and brick building, flicking the overhead lights on without warning. Sylar blinked against its brightness. One of the rats scurried across the cement floor, hurrying out of the way of predators. It stopped to pick up a crumb left behind by one of the factory worker's lunches and then ducked under a stack of crates, hidden from view.

Prescott wasted no time getting down to business. "I just got off the phone with the Odessa branch of the company. They've given me orders to proceed with your termination. You do remember signing the papers for that, correct?"

Sylar placed both feet on the floor, ignoring the pain so he could stand as tall as he could to match the other man's height. It was the most he could do to show dominance in this situation. He shrugged, putting on the bravest act he could. He wasn't about to be led to the gallows with his tail between his legs. They weren't going to get the satisfaction of breaking him. "After taking away my powers, you might as well."

"I take it you've thought about the deal I offered you, Gabriel." Prescott set a metal briefcase on the table, clicked it open and displayed the contents full of medical supplies. He plucked the vial off the table, from where it sat all day, taunting Sylar with the future he could have chosen. A future where he could be free but where Claire would be dead. "And have decided against all logic not to take it. It's a pity, a man of your many, considerable talents and you're going to let them go to waste."

Sylar watched as Prescott set the red vial into a small slot in the briefcase. With it packed away, Sylar's options were cut off. Prescott proceeded to pulled out a hypodermic needle, already filled with something else.

It seemed there was no shortage of drugs they wanted to pump into his system: one to make him docile, another to keep him weak, one more to experiment on him with, yet another to make him have unending nightmarish pain. They truly were a sadistic bunch. He murmured in masochistic amusement,"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small. What exactly does that one do?"

"Potassium chloride." Prescott showed great reverence for the drug. He seemed in awe of it and the powers it possessed, like a child playing with his favorite toy. "The government created it to administer to prisoners on death row."

"I'm going to die by lethal injection, then?" Sylar stiffened but would not let himself inch away. Every part of him wanted to run, to hide, like he used to do whenever the bullies would pick a fight with him on the playground. This bully in particular was not threatening to take his lunch money; he was threating to take his life, which was all the more demeaning.

This was not the way he pictured going out. There was supposed to be an epic battle, some flashy show of powers and meaningful last words. Maybe an explosion or two. Not just a whimper in the middle of some empty, abandoned warehouse.

"It's fitting, isn't it? You were on the FBI's most wanted list for five years running, before Primatech deleted all record of your existence. Society has decided that you are too dangerous to be allowed to live and now justice must be carried out." Prescott neared his helpless hostage, each step echoing against the dense emptiness of the warehouse and mixing with Sylar's rapid heartbeat. He held the needle up to Sylar's neck, about to plunge it in. Then he stopped and told him, "A hundred milliequivalents of this stuff and you'll be dead within seven minutes. It'll feel like nothing but an ordinary.. normal.. garden-variety heart attack."

Prescott tapped the hypodermic needle gently against the veins that rose in Sylar's neck, finding pleasure in describing how ordinary Sylar's death would be. He'd obviously done his homework and the case notes on his subject very carefully. An ordinary death would bring no meaning and in the end no one would remember his name, which in Sylar's eyes was the equivalent of being condemned to hell.

"I'm sorry but if you will not meet us halfway, there's really nothing more that can be done." He fingered the push button on the end of the needle, playing with it and teasing his victim.

Sylar closed his eyes, unable to watch while his life was about to be taken from him. He flinched away as he felt the tip of the needle rest against his skin, hating himself for not being stronger. Giving into his fear was weak, it made him feel small and helpless but still, right before Prescott plunged the potassium chloride into him, Sylar shouted, "Wait.. wait! Stop! Okay, please, I want to take the deal." He opened his eyes, still flinching and waited for a response as he begged for his life. "I want to take it! I'll get you Claire!"

Prescott chuckled to himself but pulled the needle away, not spilling a drop of the lethal dose. "You advanced humans are all the same. So damn predictable."

Returning to the table, Prescott placed the potassium chloride filled needle back into its slot in the briefcase. He then retrieved another and began to fill it with the blue liquid, the one that would bring Sylar's powers back. Pretty soon, Sylar would be almost omnipotent again. Somehow that didn't make him feel any less disgusted with himself.

Sylar starred at the ground. There was not quite enough words in the world to describe how much he resented his final choice of giving in to this asshole and agreeing to sacrifice Claire. The company won and he had finally caved.

Before Sylar could look up again, Prescott had cut the rope between his wrists and the ceiling. He was too startled by the sudden freedom that all he could do was fall ungracefully and collapse onto the floor. He ended up face down on the cement floor, nearly breaking his nose with nothing to break his fall while his hands remained tied together. He groaned, unable to move for the time being as he gathered what little was left of his energy.

Prescott worked quickly, pulling down the waistband of Sylar's pants to expose fleshy muscle just soft enough to sink the tip of the needle into. Sylar couldn't see what the other man was doing but was certain that it was the right drug this time. They wouldn't let him renege on his deal. "You have one day, Sylar. Only one. You're to bring Claire to us by tomorrow night or we will hunt the both of you down. And we will kill you. Is this understood?"

He winced as the needle dove down, flooding his body with the substance that would bring his powers back. His forehead rested against the cool cement floor. Sylar felt the side of his face where he had fallen growing black and blue. His voice was muffled but the meaning clear. "I hope you realize that as soon as my powers return, your orders won't mean a thing to me. You won't be able to hurt us again. You won't even be able to find us."

Prescott sliced the remaining ropes between Sylar's wrists, still unafraid and unfazed. He kicked Sylar in the side, rolling him over onto his back. "I'll be gone long before you wake up. You see, I've taken the liberty of lacing the Troflexim with a sleeping agent. This way I'll be able to escape while you're getting some much needed rest before you go out there on your first field assignment." He placed his boot on Sylar's stomach, pressing down onto his lungs as he rested his arm on his knee. "And if you fail to follow this assignment, I will personally make sure you are caught and not given any more second chances."

"How would you even find me?" Sylar coughed out, the weight of Prescott's heel on his chest making it hard to breath. The sleeping agent was working quickly, leaving him exhausted and ready to conk out.

Prescott laughed. "When you were unconscious last night, I placed a tracker in your neck." He took out what looked like a PDA, bringing it right up to Sylar's face. He tapped the screen, pointing to the bleep on the map, the one that was flashing at the corner of Whitehall and South streets. "This is you. And wherever you are, I won't be far behind. Remember that if you try to outrun or hide from us."

Prescott backed up, giving him one last kick for good measure. As Sylar began the quick descent into the world of unconsciousness, Prescott returned to the table and packed up his belongings. Snapping the briefcase shut, he walked out and shut off the lights, leaving Sylar laying on the floor of the warehouse, dizzy and sleepy.

The company had won a significant battle in the war that seemed to wage between them forever. After so many years of swearing that he would never play their games or work for them, the company finally forced Sylar into their submission. It was a necessary defeat, the last clear thoughts in his head told him. Either Sylar played their game on their terms this round or he stopped playing completely.

Death may have been a nobler choice but he didn't aspire to be noble.

He only wanted to survive.

And survival called for sacrifices.

..to be continued..


	18. Chapter 18

This was the place; the only warehouse on the block which Molly directed her towards in her quest to find Sylar. Claire circled the building a few times, looking for a way inside. The main door was locked tight but there was a window on the side, just big enough for her to squeeze through. She budged it open, silent and slow, listening for any sounds coming from inside.

It was quiet, which gave her pause.

It was also rather dark inside, so she was unable to see what awaited her.

Perhaps she was too late and Sylar was already-- she shook her head, not wanting to even think of that possibility. Still, the look on Molly's face when the teenager warned that Sylar was in trouble haunted her and drove Claire into action.

She brushed a piece of blond hair behind her ear and lifted the window the rest of the way, holding it up with a stick. It was big enough for her to fit through, though the meager diet that the company kept her on did help with the tight squeeze.

Sliding through the window feet first, Claire felt for the ground. She didn't realize that the drop was a lot further than she thought until she dropped a good six feet. Claire smashed through several cardboard boxes before falling on her ass.

Her ankle made a horrible _crunch_, a familiar sound that followed whenever she broke it. Claire sat on the cement floor and guided it back into place with her hands, without being able to see if she was doing it correctly in the dim light of the warehouse. She felt the bones knit back together, replacing the broken pieces with newer, stronger cells. She wiggled her foot and it responded exactly as it should.

When Claire was better, she stood up and glanced around in the darkened room, hoping no one heard her. She really did not want to have a fight on her hands, another tussle with the company or someone almost as powerful. When no one came running up to her with weapons drawn, Claire muttered, "I hope you remember to at least thank me when I'm done rescuing you."

When she was certain no one was around and no one was coming after her, Claire stepped over the cardboard boxes and wooden crates, careful not to trip and impale herself on anything sharp or pointy.

Claire felt along the wall and eventually reached what felt like a box with a series of different lightswitches. It took a moment of careful deliberation before she decided to switch them all on but she was starting to believe the place was empty anyway.

The lights flicked on. With the warehouses' old wooden beams, cement floor and boxes that littered the empty interior it wasn't anything special. She took a step, studying the place and then she saw him. Lying face up, next to the table in the middle of the floor, Sylar wasn't moving at all. He looked dead. She held her breath, rushing to cross the distance between them. "Oh, God, no. Please be okay.. please be okay.."

Claire fell to her knees beside him and reached for his wrist, checking for a pulse. It was there, but faint and every other beat seemed to be slightly off. "Sylar!" She grabbed hold of his shoulders, attempting to shake him into consciousness. He was limp in her hands. "Come on, you have to wake up. We have to get out of here. Please."

Claire stopped and took a calming breath but starring down at him, lifeless like this, was causing her to tremble uncontrollably. Seeing him vulnerable and helpless scared her more than anything they'd been through so far. She really didn't like this turn of the tables. She took hold of his hand, it was warm and that relaxed her somewhat. It meant he was still in there somewhere, behind those closed eyes and thready pulse.

When Claire was cheerleading at Union Wells High School, the team's coach made all the girls take first aid lessons in case one of their teammates ever got injured. Even with the amount of cramming she'd done to pass those lessons, she couldn't remember what she was supposed to do first. That was years ago though, back when she was just a kid living in a small town in Texas and didn't actually believe she might ever be someone's last hope.

"Okay, so I checked your breathing. And your pulse. Calling an ambulance is out of the question, since I don't know what's on your record. It can't be good, right? You're probably wanted for murder in at least twelve states, two countries, something like that, huh?" She was babbling and on the verge of crying, but Claire couldn't stop.

She ran a hand through his hair, it was short, kept that way for years by the company. His eyebrows were bushy through, forever in need of a trim. She caught herself starring and turned away.

"Fourteen states." Sylar corrected her groggily as he squeezed her hand lightly. Claire jumped, startled by the sudden movement. She blinked away tears. "But they haven't built a prison that can hold me yet."

"Oh my god, you're alive! I thought--"

"That what? I was dead? Come on, Claire, you know me better than that. Nothing can stop me." Sylar cocked his head at her, bringing his eyebrows together to show the level of ridiculousness he applied to that comment. Claire could tell from the weariness in his eyes though, that much of that was just posturing. He wanted to play the big tough supervillian, capable of stopping speeding bullets and knocking people senseless with a twitch of his finger.

She nodded, still worried. "You were unconscious."

"I was drugged." He explained. "I had to kill the guy who decided it would be a fun idea to capture me, though, which I'm sure offends you in some way."

Although Sylar was a good liar, Claire was beginning to learn when it was just bravado. "And you got knocked out after beating up this guy, how? Men are so typical, you know. Always have to be top dog, no matter how much the facts state otherwise."

She rose to her feet and offered him a hand. Sylar brushed her away, pulling himself into a standing position by his own power. His stance was unsteady and Claire was sure he was going to fall over again, which would serve him well. Returning her banter while regaining his balance, he replied, "You're just in denial about me having to kill again. Poor, innocent Claire."

"Yep. You keep telling yourself that." Right when she was sure he was going to topple over, Claire reached her arm around his waist. "What the hell did they give you anyway? I let you go around, traipsing all through the city and when I finally meet up with you again, you can't even walk straight."

Sylar untangled himself from her arms and moved away. Sitting on the edge of the table, he brought a hand to his head, dizziness clear in his face. Seriousness entered the room, leaving no room for their teasing repartee. "You shouldn't be here. Claire, you need to get yourself someplace safe. Mohinder can give you Peter's address. He'll take care of you."

"What? Screw that!" Claire scoffed at this suggestion. "I'm not leaving you, Sylar. You're barely able to move. And who knows if and when whoever did this to you is going to come back."

"That's the problem. I can't--" He spoke quietly, rubbing his fingers in tiny circles at his temples. Claire could see him fighting to tell her something, opening his mouth and then shutting it with a sigh as words failed him. Finally losing his temper, Sylar yelled at her like she was nothing more than an insolent child. "I'm tired of being bothered by you, okay? I'm tired of protecting you like I'm supposed to be some goddamn hero. Give it up." He stalked towards her, grabbing her shoulders. "We both know what side I'm play for."

She flinched away involuntarily, surprised to see this side of him coming out, after everything they'd been through together. His nails dug into her arms, gripping them tightly. "Stop it. You're hurting me."

"That's what I do, Claire. I hurt people." He grabbed her chin with his hand, forcing her to look up at him. "I break them and I cut them, I suck out their brains and torture them until they bleed to death. And you know something? I like it. I enjoy it. It's who I am."

Claire threw up her arm, breaking his hold on her and backed away. Could she have been wrong about coming here and saving him? No, she'd seen a change in him these past few days, Claire was sure about that. It couldn't all be wiped away in one night. He wasn't morally black, few people ever were these days, most humans were just morally gray, just like her father used to say.

He wouldn't relent in his plan. Sylar took another step in her direction and began to describe things she always avoided talking about with him. "There's nothing quite like their screaming, how it fills your ears.." he smiled and closed his eyes, as if remembering it all. He faltered as another wave of dizziness washed through him, but then continued, "It's beautiful, Claire. It's--"

Claire didn't know what to do, so she did the first thing that came to mind. She smacked him across the face with all of her strength. It stunned the both of them.

She covered her wide mouth with her hand, before gathering herself enough to reply. "Stop it! Just stop it! I don't know what happened to you while I was gone, but I did not come all this way so that you could speak like this to me." She shivered and the glare in his eyes seemed to shift slightly. She wanted to cry and run, but she held back. She starred through watery eyes, matching his look of defiance. "Now you're not a good person, obviously not, but I need you and you're going to help me. If you need me to further clarify this situation for you, I will."

Claire held up her hand, daring him to give her another excuse to smack him again. She prayed Sylar wouldn't be able to tell how much she was shaking.

He was still rubbing the side of his face, where she'd hit him when he laughed at her show of false power. "Please, I'd kill you before you could do anything." When she failed to react to his threat, Sylar shook his head, mocking the stupidity he thought he saw in her. "Fine. Just don't blame me when you get hurt. I gave you a chance and, trust me, that was your last one. It's not my fault you don't know what's good for you."

Sylar started getting woozy, the stress of the fight getting to him. Claire wrapped an arm around his waist before he could fall over, muttering all the while. "Idiot."

"Masochist." He returned the jab but let her help him anyway.

No more words were spoken between them. He didn't need to say anything, his words rang in Claire's ears. Nor could she forget the way his eyes danced when he described the pleasure in taking a life.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to leave him here. There was a light in his eyes, the slightest hint that he could be a better man. It was enough for her to believe in for now.

Claire helped him around various boxes and shipping crates until they found the main exit out of the warehouse. Her pace slowed by Sylar's stumbling gait and his own reluctance to follow her. They both knew he would though. They were stuck with each other for the time being.

* * *

The first plan to drive Claire away failed miserably. Sylar couldn't understand why she was still standing by his side, following him down the city street with that same damn bounce of hope in her steps. She was so naive, it was getting painful to watch.

He'd given her every reason to turn tail and run away, grabbed her roughly and showed her the dark side of him that he had been hiding away. Claire still refused to go. Her own self-preservation failed to kick in as her determination to find Peter grew. The damn Petrelli boy always seemed to fuck up his plans.

Not only did she stay with him but ever since finding him unconscious, Claire refused to give him an inch of space, always one step behind him in case he fell, as they searched for a way out of the city. Sylar told her he was fine a multitude of times already but she kept on pestering him.

He knew she was using him, leaning on his strength for her own support. She was hoping he would come through at the end and be the one who saved her from whatever was out there. He was nothing more than her muscle. Why else would she still be following him around?

"So, tell me again why we're stealing a new car?" She shivered in the cold night air as he broke into the first car they found in the more deserted area of the city, a little red Nissan Cobra. The sun had just gone down and the temperature was dropping steadily. "Haven't you had enough grand theft auto for one week?"

"I'm covering our tracks, Claire." He replied with an annoyed sigh. Sylar knew it was pretty damn futile at this point to think simply changing cars would keep those that were following them off their tracks. They'd tagged him, buried a tracker in his neck. It didn't matter how far they ran or how many tricks Sylar used to evade them, the company would be coming tomorrow night. He would do what he could though. Besides, the car was a little flashy and if events took an even worse turn at least they would be going out in style. "You could help, you know, instead of just standing there looking pretty-- unless that's all you're good at."

He slammed his fist into the window again but the damn driver's side window refused to break. The drugs made him weak; they were still running through his veins making him woozy. Sylar refused to let Claire see how drained he felt. The ill feeling would pass soon. Not soon enough to break through this car window, however. It was getting to the point where he was starting to think of taking a different vehicle, maybe that jeep across the street.

Claire stepped forward, gesturing him to step aside and used her whole arm to smash through the glass. She put every ounce of herself behind that bash, ripping her shirt in the process and gaining long cuts all along her arm as a result. They healed up quickly and Claire was left overly-impressed with her work. "See, I'm useful."

"Yeah, sure." He was still not convinced of that fact. Claire wasn't making his life any easier right now. Sure, she could break into cars pretty well, picking up the fine art of theft like a natural. Being near her was making him even angrier for making necessary deals though, as if offering to turn her into the company was somehow wrong. It was simply survival, a necessary adaption to the changes in the environment. He didn't mean it.

Then there was the fact that she wouldn't stop acting like he knew every single answer and could save her somehow. It was maddening. He wasn't a goddamn hero, he sure as hell never signed up to join their club.

He stumbled to unlock the door, ignoring how numb his feet felt. He was still floating on the same high but knew he'd be crashing down soon. Claire stopped him, laying her hand on his arm.

"I'll drive." She offered, but then caught herself still needing his help. Claire always needed his help, he shuddered to think what would become of sweet, little Claire if he wasn't there to do every little thing for her. "If you can hotwire it for me, I mean."

"Claire, we don't have time for your never-one-mile-over-the-speed-limit style of driving." He did some quick calculations in his head. Time was running out. Prescott gave him one day, only until nightfall tomorrow, which left about twenty-two hours. "I seem to remember you freaking out last time you had to drive."

"I think I got over that." She sounded hopeful, but not completely sure of herself. "Besides, I don't want to be pulled over by a cop because they think you're driving drunk. Why don't you just start the car and then get some rest? I'll need you in top shape if we meet any trouble along the way."

Sure, Sylar always had to be there in case there was trouble. He starting to get really tired of being the brawn of this operation. Not that he didn't enjoy kicking the shit out of things, but the girl needed to be able to stand on her own two feet. She needed to be able to face what was out there. She had to be stronger, but she wasn't. Not yet. He frowned, the need to protect her growing at a time when he really didn't want it to.

Claire's plan was a good one though. She could drive, he could rest and they would make it to Maine soon and thing's would be better. He nodded and opened the door, fiddling with the wires until the engine turned over.

As he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, Sylar replied. "Fine. If you want, you can drive. Just remember that we're on a time limit. We need to get to Peter as soon as possible."

"Why?" She looked over the roof of the car at him. "I'm in a hurry to get to Peter, too but.." Claire narrowed her eyes in his direction, starting to catch on to his rushed tone. Apparently, blonds weren't all as stupid as he would have believed. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, Claire. Every thing's fine." Sylar lied, rather effectively this time and got into the car. Once Claire was behind the driver's seat, he turned towards her and turned up the charm, hoping to dissuade her from any thought of what happened back at the warehouse. "I'm sorry if I'm worrying you. I'm just excited to get you back to your family. I want to see you happy."

"Wait.. what was that you just said?"

He shrugged and chose the least telling of his last statements. "That I can't wait to get you back to your family?"

Her lips curled up into a tiny smirk as Claire teased him. She'd caught him in the act of saying something that amused her greatly. "Noo.. you said you were 'sorry'. Are you okay? Did it hurt at all? Do you feel like your heart may be growing three times the size today?"

"It's just a phrase, Cindy Lou." He spoke through gritted teeth. He wished someone from the company was around right then because he had a sudden urge to turn her in that very moment. "Now shut up and drive. By any luck, we may get to Sebago Lake by midnight and I can toss you out of my life by the end of the night."

She pouted and he regretfully found it almost attractive. He closed his eyes and felt her drive away from the sidewalk. He couldn't forget those lips though, the way they pursed together when she grew sullen. If he kept thinking this way, it wouldn't be long before he cracked, told her exactly what the Primatech was planning and surrendered himself to the company so they would take him instead of her.

That would be a truly stupid, heroic move but it was an idea. One idea in the long list of maybes that might get the both of them out of this situation alive. Not that it mattered to him that Claire make it out alive, because it really didn't. Except that it did. And he hated that it did.

He counted down the minutes, checking the clock every so often to see if they would make it to Maine on schedule. All he had to do was get to Maine, drop Claire off on Peter's doorstep and drive away before the company found her. He paused, thinking over that new plan, wondering if it would work.

* * *

"Such a stupid little girl, you almost deserve what's coming to you." Sylar perched on the hood of their car, getting some fresh air while watching Claire finish shopping at the store connected to the gas station. She was hungry and wanted something for dinner. Too bad her last free meal outside of the company would be some crap from a gas station store, but he wouldn't dare tell her his plan. 

He didn't want her hating him before Sylar turned her over to the company.

Or maybe it would be better that way, he pondered. Maybe if Claire could sit in her cell, hating him for the rest of her tortured life, it would be enough for her to survive in there. He knew from experience that hatred could be a powerful force to cling to in the darkest hours.

He didn't want to hurt her but it was her fault anyway. Claire was quite possibly the stupidest female Sylar had ever met and that was saying something. He'd given her an out, attempted to give her a running start. She wouldn't take it though, so damn determined that he was going to save her.

He watched as she paid for the purchases. She was careful not to look up from her rather large baseball cap, keeping well hidden for fear of someone recognizing her from the news. Claire was taking all the wrong precautions. Sylar was the greater threat and she was still riding around with him.

He placed his fingers on the side of his neck, the small incision where they'd implanted the tracking chip starting to itch. Oh well, he'd given her a choice, she didn't take it. Whatever happened now fell on her shoulders.

She bounced out of the store, eager to get on the road and start back on the road again. He hopped off the hood of the car. "Did you get everything you needed?"

"Yep." She showed him a scratch-off lottery ticket. "I guess once I move in with Peter, I won't be coming back to this state for a while but I couldn't resist playing." Setting it on top of the wheel, she scratched off pieces of it with an extra penny from her change. Sylar was willing to bet, with the danger that was coming for her, that it was not a lucky penny. "My mother used to play these all the time. She kept hoping to win big but never won anything higher than fifty dollars."

"How did you do?"

"Eh," She chucked it into the backseat. "Nada. Oh well, I'm happy enough, I don't need money. We'll be at Peter's place in a little while. And then, well, then I'll be home."

"What are you going to say to him?" Sylar asked as they headed out onto the highway. Westchester was a nice enough place, if you liked forests and the boring highways that cut through them. It was also rumored to be the site of the East Branch of Primatech's headquarters. He frowned, watching the trees go by and wondering if they were out there in the dark, starring him down right now and waiting for Sylar to make his move on the girl.

He turned his attention back to Claire, who was still stuck for an answer to his question, as simple enough as it had been. Finally, she replied, "I don't know. I've been wondering that myself. What do you say to a ghost? I mean, I thought he was dead up until yesterday when Molly gave me his address. She said he has a nice house, right on the lake."

"You've been traveling with me this whole way and you still didn't think he was alive?" He sat up straighter, suddenly overtaken by the amount of trust she must have placed in him. To have followed him all the way from Texas to New York without being certain of finding Peter at the end, it was just more evidence of her missing brain. Too bad, he would have enjoyed that tasty treat.

She shrugged, switched the blinker on and moved in to the fast lane. "I was giving you the benefit of the doubt even though I pretty much thought you were crazy. We made interesting traveling companions though, at the very least."

Sylar smirked to himself. The only one there who was crazy was Claire, crazy to be sitting in a car alone with him. Primatech reminded him of who he really was and what alignment the universe cast him into. He was a morally black and she was far too pure to understand such things. It wouldn't be long before he was turning her over to her enemies and gaining his freedom in return.

Guilt was a luxury he could not afford on this mission, so he did the best he could to push it aside, moving forward with his new goal. He starred at the radio buttons, pressing them in his mind and made the music switch over to an alternative rock station.

Claire beamed at him, proud as a parent on the day their child learned to walk. It was ridiculous. "Your powers are working again! That's great. It'll probably help us in the long run, you know, for things other than changing the radio station that I _was_ listening to."

"I'm sure it will, Claire." Sylar starred out the window, waiting. "I'm sure it will."

* * *

Sylar got up from the table at the Vermont diner, unable to eat with Claire and listen to her talk endlessly about her plans for the future. They were nothing more than false dreams; because of him, she had no future with Peter, no future in the real world. She was going back to the company in just a few hours. 

On his way outside, he swiped a knife from off one of the nearby tables.

Sylar walked around the building, into the darkened fields that ran for what seemed like miles. Without an actual plan, he took the knife to his neck, cutting as deep as he could around the implant. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't lead the company straight to them, though he didn't know how far he would have to cut before the tracking device could come loose.

His scream brought Claire running, "Sylar! What are you doing?"

He grunted, his hands full of his own blood as he ripped a chuck of flesh from his neck. In the dim light from the parking lot, he saw that a piece of metal was stuck in the chuck of meat. He'd done it. He was free. He was.. really, really dizzy.

Sylar fell to the ground, his words slurred. "They were following.. I had to.. Claire. I--"

"Shh, don't speak." She knelt beside him and took the knife, slicing a wide gash into her wrist. She didn't even seem to flinch at the pain. Blood poured out, though the hole was already knitting itself back together. "Drink this."

"First you.. think I eat brains.. now blood." He tried to lighten the mood with a gentle laugh, but nearly collapsed again. He leaned his back against her chest, having trouble sitting up now. "I may be evil.. but I'm not.. a vampire."

She shut him up by forcing her wrist into his mouth, saving his life while there was still life there to be saved. "My blood can heal. The company was keeping me as their own little blood bank, selling my 'miracle cure' off to the highest bidder. I might as well save someone I actually care about this time."

He could feel her breathing heavily as he suckled at her arm, ingesting every bit that he could. She put a hand on his forehead and rested her chin on it, holding him close. He drank as much as he could before the cut on Claire's arm closed up again. Soon new tissue and skin regrew around his knife wound and the life-threatening blood loss came to a stop.

He breathed. "You saved my life."

"I'm the one who's supposed to be the masochist, dummy." She said softly. "Get it right next time."

..to be continued..


	19. Chapter 19

They'd been sitting in the car, parked right down the dirt road to Peter's lake house for a half hour now. Much of the narrow road was blocked by their car but that's where Claire stopped anyway. She turned off the engine, pulled the keys out of the ignition and starred out at the impressive log cabin, made of dark logs and rustic accents. She didn't want to go up there, not yet, so they sat in relative silence, watching the shore that hugged the road.

Not for the first time, Claire told him, "I can't do it. I don't know what to say to him."

"We didn't drive all the way here, with the company on our heals, to sit outside his house like a bunch of stalkers." Sylar watched as she bit her lip and seemed to ponder her decision. She still seemed resigned to remain there, sitting in the car for the rest of eternity. "I don't know about you, but I have better people to stalk than Peter Petrelli."

She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, as if clinging to it for support and possibly an anchor to hold her in place. "God, I'm so nervous-- what do I even say?"

"I usually start conversations with 'hi, I'm going to kill you now' but for you I think 'hi' would be sufficient enough." He joked but it didn't seem to lighten her mood at all. With a disgusted sigh, Sylar opened his door and exited the car. He slammed it shut behind him, leaving Claire alone to figure out what she wanted to do. There was only so much indecision Sylar would stand.

He began walking down the road, his boots squishing pine needles beneath them. Sylar listened for the sound of her getting out of the car and following, but heard nothing. She was still too afraid to make a move for fear that it would be the wrong one. Her hesitancy bothered Sylar to no end; she was still so much a child, always looking for the approval of others.

At last, Claire rolled down her window. "Where are you going?"

Sylar stopped and turned back around. "This is stupid, Claire. If you won't come out to see your uncle, I'm going to go talk to him alone. Maybe I can drag his sorry ass out here so he can talk some sense into you."

"He won't want to see you." Claire replied. This was true. They were still mortal enemies after all; the fight never ended between them and most likely never would. "He still wants to kill you. You murdered a lot of his friends. Niki, DL--"

"Okay, okay." Sylar cut her off. There were few things that could cause an argument between them quicker than rehashing the past. This tactic of hers wouldn't work; he refused to go down that path with her again. "I get it. Me and Peter will never see eye to eye, but you're his niece. You must have lots of crazy Petrelli crap to talk about with each other. And so help me, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming down the block, I will."

She muttered a few choice phrases under her breath, which Sylar pretended not to hear and parked the car underneath some trees. After getting out, Claire held her arms crossed against her chest like she was cold, although there was no chill in the air. "Fine. Whatever you want. I mean, you're the serial killer, after all. You'd probably kill me if I refused again, wouldn't you?"

"With a smile in my heart, Claire." He sarcastically answered. Despite the opposition growing between them, Sylar placed a hand on her shoulder, protecting her from whatever she thought might happen as they walked towards Peter's front door.

Fireflies flickered on and off in the darkness, while the crashing of little waves of the lake mixed with the fast beating sound of Claire's heart. The whole place seemed green, dark green now in the dim light. It was a nice enough place to retire, if you could settle down for any length of time. With people still on Sylar's tail, he doubted he would be resting in any one place for long.

When they reached the front stoop, Claire hesitated again and pulled away. She almost made a run for it but Sylar held an arm around her waist, halting her in her path. He couldn't help laughing at her feeble escape attempt. "Not so fast. The door's this way. You want to knock on it or should I?"

Sylar hustled her up the stairs and she starred at the door, then up at him. He could tell the next word out of her lips would start the whole process of whining and procrastination all over again. He didn't want to deal with that again, so Sylar held Claire next to him with one hand and knocked on the heavy, wooden door with the other. She could do nothing about the control he had over her but pout.

"That solves that." Sylar told her, letting her go and giving her some space to collect herself before meeting her uncle. He could hear footsteps coming down from the second floor, ambling to the door.

"I'm coming." Peter's voice called through the door before opening it, making Claire's eyes go wide and her mouth drop slightly. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and held it until the door opened. Peter stood there confused for a moment, as if he was witnessing the impossible. "Oh my god, Claire?" His eyes narrowed, the shock replaced quickly with anger. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

At first Sylar thought Peter was asking him that question and began to think of a good explanation. Then he noticed Peter was still starring down at Claire, having never taken his eyes off of her. In all truth, the other man probably hadn't even seen Sylar yet, too preoccupied with whatever grudge he held against his niece.

Claire shut her mouth and opened it again, only to shut it once again. She couldn't find the words and the way Peter was scrutinizing her didn't make communication any easier. Her eyes watered as she withdrew backwards, nearly falling off the edge of the porch and missing the step below it.

Finally, she spoke with a voice that seemed so far away. "Your face.. you look so different with the scar." She reached out a timid hand, feeling the scar beneath her fingers. It ran diagonally down the length of his face, just above his right eye all the way to his left cheek. Something-- or someone had decided to slice its way across his face, leaving evidence of a previously fought battle. "Why didn't you heal it?"

Peter smacked her hand away. "Because I didn't want anything to do with you. I don't need your powers. I don't need any reminder that you ever existed or that I ever had a niece. Nathan never should have gotten involved with you."

The broken, little girl who started this trip with Sylar was coming to the surface, as Claire retreated within herself at her uncle's rejection. Seeing her shrink back from the onslaught of Peter's insults, Sylar stepped in between them, pushing Peter back. "Your niece just crawled her way out of hell and that's all you have to say to her?"

"Sylar?" Peter finally noticed he was there. He ground his teeth, sharpening his words with intent to hurt Claire as deep as he could. "I knew you were nothing but trouble, but now you're keeping company with Sylar? What happened, got tired of screwing things up by yourself?"

"Okay, that's it." Sylar grabbed Peter's shirt collar, shoving him against the closed door and rounded back to punch him. Using his powers would have been quicker, but there came times when physical violence was much more satisfying. He could already feel the bones in his fist connecting with Peter's nose, breaking it open and bleeding down his face; it was going to feel so good. "I tried to be nice. I tried to put everything behind us but you're really starting to piss me off."

Claire caught his arm in in mid-swing. "No, Sylar. Please don't." He glanced back at her, the fight leaving him as he saw how shaken she was in the midst of all this drama. This wasn't helping her any, he was powerless in this situation. "Whatever Peter's problem with me is--"

"You don't even know, do you?" Peter started again, pushing Sylar out of the way as he neared Claire. She moved down the stairs subconsciously when Peter pointed his finger at her, placing all the blame he'd held for years on her fragile shoulders. "My brother's dead because he was protecting you."

"No." Claire shook her head in disbelief, tears falling down her cheeks. Peter was delighting in sending her over the edge, since he clearly had taken a nice long vacation there himself. "He didn't.. he wouldn't."

"Nathan's death was your fault. They killed him to get to you." Peter stood on the steps, towering over Claire as she backed away. "He said would sacrifice himself to protect you from the company, but what about me, Claire? Did I have to lose my brother in order to protect you too? He was all I had, Claire. He was everything."

Sylar was beginning to put things together and reach some startling conclusions; some of the puzzle pieces still seemed out of place though. He climbed down the steps, coming to stand beside Claire. She was shaking and it only made Sylar hate Peter more. "I thought your brother died because of his involvement in politics. Some other campaign--"

"Oh, please, that's what the company wants you to think. The amount of cover ups those people do, they rewrite history as they please." Peter sneered and walked back inside the house, turning back only to tell them. "I don't ever want to see you here again, Claire. Do you understand me? You got my brother killed and ruined my life in the process. The chapter of my life with you in it is officially closed."

"Peter.. wait, please--"

The door slammed shut in their faces before Claire could get her plea out. She stood there without moving for a moment, shaking and taking shuddering breaths. Sylar tried to hold her but she wouldn't let him and pushed away. Instead, she started crying and took off running down the road.

Sylar took one last disgusted look at Peter's door, wondering if Claire would honestly care if he killed the boy now. It would be okay; no one would miss Peter. Claire might even forgive him this one little murder once she came to accept that the last member of her family was a jerk. Then Sylar heard Claire's distance sobs and hurried to catch up with her.

"Claire?" It was so dark that once he got past the light coming from the house, he could barely see anything. He narrowly avoided walking into a tree and he let out a curse as his foot collided with a large rock. "Could you please tell me where you are so I don't have to continue tripping around in the dark?"

Sylar heard her again, sobbing on the shoreline where a small sandy beach met the road. Down by the lake, he noticed her shape surrounded in moonlight and huddled on the sands. He took a deep breath, watching her in her time of agony. Moving with a hesitated slowness, Sylar crept over to her and wrapped his arms around her but she still did not allow him to comfort her.

"Don't touch me. I'm dangerous. I'll only get you hurt." She picked herself up on her knees, fighting to get away from him. Claire clawed at him, smacked him, hit him but that didn't make him loosen his grip on her. He took every blow offered, helping her to fight off her pain. "Everyone gets hurt because of me, Sylar. Everyone!"

Sylar took both her wrists in his hands so she couldn't hit him again and then spoke to her, hoping he could reach her through her own self-hatred. "Hello, kettle, this is the goddamn pot you're talking to here. I think I know a thing or two about people getting hurt because of things done in the past. Only there's this one big difference between your past and mine: I meant to hurt those people and you had absolutely no part in what happened to Nathan. It wasn't your fault, Claire."

"God, why did the company use him to get to me? Why couldn't they just leave him alone?" Claire fought off his touch, recoiling inward and breaking down again. She wanted to find fault in her actions, needing to be blamed and not consoled. She scratched long, red welts down her arm as way of self-injury until Sylar stopped her by pinning her to the ground.

His hands held her arms while he knelt over her and spoke. "It wasn't your fault, Claire. And I'm not moving until you accept that."

She searched the sky full of stars for answers but couldn't find much sense in all her pain. It took a while but Claire finally let go of some small part of her own blame. Her voice broke as she started apologizing for things she had no control over. "I didn't mean it.. I didn't mean to get him killed. I didn't mean to get any of them killed."

"Peter's an ass. Don't listen to him." Sylar soothed her the only way he knew how, by making fun of the other Petrellis. "What he said was completely fucked up and I should know," he told her as he lifted himself off of her and sat down on the sand. "I'm as fucked up as they come."

"He won't even talk to me. Where am I supposed to go?" Claire lay there, watching the sky before sitting up and resting her head against his shoulder. Her words mingled with choking tears. "I have no family, where am I supposed to do now?"

She was looking to him for wisdom but he didn't have any to offer here. Instead of answering her, Sylar rubbed his hand over her shoulders and watched the waves crash against the rocky shoreline. He wasn't good at things like this; he didn't know how to comfort someone when they were breaking down in front of him. There was only one thing he was really good at in the world and he doubted killing Peter would help right now.

After a moment, he finally answered. "We'll figure something out. I'll go talk to him again. Maybe--"

"No. Don't--" Claire clung to his arm, a sudden panic taking over. "Let's just go. We can get out of here, find another road and keep moving."

That was completely out of the question. Sylar had things to do, things he didn't want Claire to take part in or witness. She was still so young, so fragile. Besides, there were still company men after him and they would find him eventually. He wasn't stupid enough to think that they'd be thrown off Sylar's trail by simply destroying the tracking system. He wouldn't be able to keep her safe.

He nodded his agreement anyway and helped Claire to her feet.

She leaned on him until they found the car again and then got in without a sound. She was sleeping before he could get to the driver's side door, exhausted by the day's traveling and the argument with her uncle. He frowned, unsure what he could do for her now.

As he turned the car around, Sylar hesitated for a moment and starred in the direction of the cabin. There was nothing more he wanted than to go kill that man with his own bare hands for hurting Claire, though he knew that would be pointless. "You're a fucking moron, Peter Petrelli."

Sylar drove around town for a while, until he found a small bed and breakfast motel. They'd get some rest tonight and then he'd see what could be done in the morning. He was going to make things right for Claire, no matter how many heads he needed to knock around or how many people he had to kill.

..to be continued..


	20. Chapter 20

In this small coastal town, they could find no place else to stay for the night but this pathetically romantic bed and breakfast. Sylar plopped down in the chair that occupied the small nitch in their room. After they finished checking in, Sylar was stuck coming up with a plan to attack their newest problem.

Peter wouldn't see Claire and Claire was a wreck.

After checking in for the night, Claire grew eerily quiet. A few times Sylar tried to drag her out of her self-induced withdrawal; he struck up failing conversations with little pieces of small trivia, a few jokes to get her to laugh. Nothing worked. She left the room once they unpacked, returning a little while later with what looked like a sewing kit from the front desk.

She came in, opened up the kit and spilled its contents on the neatly made bed. He watched from the corner of the room as Claire searched for what she was so intent on finding. From the pile of bobbins and pins, buttons and ribbon, she pulled a pair of scissors.

"Claire, what are you doing?" He asked, suddenly afraid to find out. There was something in her sad smile that terrified him. When she gripped the scissors tighter and refused to answer, he knew they were in trouble. She headed into the bathroom, still so silent. He stood up, following her but stayed outside the door when he asked, "Claire? Are you okay? Answer me or I'm coming in there after you."

"Go away." She called back, her voice cracking on her answer.

He heard her crying; it was about the worst thing he could remember hearing in a long time. Claire yelped in pain and Sylar couldn't hold back any longer. He phased through the door and saw the scissors sticking out of her chest, like she tried to cut out her own heart. Flashbacks of his mother in that very same pose gave him pause, his breath caught in his throat. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Claire's light cry turned to hysterical sobs when she was discovered. As Sylar stood petrified and caught up in his own memories, she took the scissors out of her chest and plunged them in her side. The hole over her heart closed up but the blood stain and rip in her shirt remained.

Claire didn't stop there. She pulled out the scissor from her side and stuck it in again and again, making bloody wound after bloody wound.

"Don't you see? It doesn't matter how much I bleed.. it doesn't matter how much they cut me, or what they do to me.. if they stick needles in me or kill my father, or leave my family for dead.. it'll just heal, right. That's what they were expecting.. I'll be fine."

"Claire, you're far from fine right now." Sylar inched closer, like he was attending to a hurt animal in the woods. If not careful, they would attack just as soon as let their rescuer help them. Plus, experience taught him not to rush at someone who was holding scissors. That never ended well. He hoped this wasn't a repeat performance of that memory he would have rather forgotten. "Why don't you give me the scissors?"

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Her face screwed up in pain and anger as Claire spit her reply back at him. "Why are you trying so hard to make everything right again?"

"It's what I do." An apology came from his lips, offering the only explanation he could give. He made a grab for the weapon but Claire dodged away. "I fix things."

"Well, you can't fix me so fucking stop trying! I can't be that person anymore. I can't be Claire Bennet, average high school student. I'm _different_." Her mouth twisted around the last word, saying it with as much venom as she could place in two syllables.

She coughed back another sob and then got a deadly glint in her eye, an idea was forming in her mind. Sylar looked on warily as she took the scissors to her long blond hair, chopping it off to shoulder length. It was the only thing that wouldn't grow back, the only difference she could make to her outer appearance to display the change inside. Long blond tresses scattered around her feet on the floor. Finally giving up, Claire slammed the scissors into the mirror, shattering the glass. "I'm so tired of seeing that girl in the mirror. I'm not her anymore."

Sylar raised his hand, tired of this game and the scissors sailed out of Claire's hand. When he caught them, she turned her attention towards him, rushing for the weapon. She wasn't done with it yet. She punched him in the chest, clawed at his arms and kicked at him to reach the desired item but he held it above her head, just out of reach. She left bloody marks up and down his arms, nails digging into his skin but he held tight to the scissors, letting her exhaust herself. "Claire, stop it. Stop it! I'm not going to let you keep cutting yourself on account of your fucking good-for-nothing uncle."

She finally gave up the fight, bunching up his shirt with her hands and clung to him for support. He sighed and wrapped one hand around her quivering body. With the other, he laid the scissors on the bathroom counter and melted them to goo. He pulled her to him and ran a hand through her shortened hair. His fingers followed the curve of her neck, blood from the already healed wound coloring his fingers. "Is Peter really worth all this?"

Claire wouldn't look at him. Her voice shook as she answered, "I just want my family back.. oh god, I want them back." She was quiet for a moment before adding, "I don't even know who I am anymore. What did the company turn me into? Who am I?"

"You are," Sylar tilted her head up so Claire would look him in the eye. He thought of the day he rescued her from the company when she seemed so little and broken and of their spats back in the honeymoon suite and the way she'd found him in the warehouse in New York City, like an angel coming to save him. "A beautiful girl.. a little crazy, but--"

A smile found its way to her small mouth, sad and unwanted but there nonetheless. "You really think I'm beautiful?"

Sylar found himself speechless under her gaze, completely powerless. He was still thinking of an answer when she stepped up on her tiptoes and kissed him. With a hunger born of a week's worth of repressing deeper emotions, he returned her kiss and relished the moment their lips met. This was something he never knew he wanted, never knew he needed and she was standing there beside him offering him everything that would make him whole.

She tasted like springtime and candy with just a touch of a passion dark enough to rival his own. This was not the girl he hunted down in Union Wells, the girl he almost killed once upon a time but someone else entirely. She was right about that. Though what she had turned into was more exquisite than the original copy, an evolutionary upgrade.

Claire pulled away from their kiss just long enough to sink her teeth into his neck, nibbling at the space just above his shoulder. He moaned at the sensation, pain mixing with pleasure and ran a hand under her shirt. Sylar lifted her off the ground and she straddled his waist, letting him carry her to the bed in the next room. She continued working her mouth around his throat, her tongue caressing the area where she'd left bite marks until Sylar placed her on the bed.

Claire started removing her shirt, eagerly awaiting the next phase. Sylar caught himself pausing in the heat of the moment. She was so young, innocent almost, she didn't need to get mixed up with a killer like himself. After taking off her own shirt, she started working on his but when he didn't make a move to reciprocate she asked, "What's wrong?"

"I-- I don't know if this is a good idea, Claire." Sylar placed his hand over her own, stopping her from unbuttoning his shirt. He moved her hand away gently, saving her from making a mistake they would both pay for in the end. "I don't want you to regret this later. You deserve things I can't give you."

"Can you give me this night? This one night?" She pulled him down and Sylar could only move with her beckoning, forgetting all thoughts of doing the right thing while closing the distance between his body and her own. She grabbed hold of his shirt, scrunching it between her fingers and pulled him down until their mouths met. She was a delicious yet poisonous treat. She breathed again, letting go of him. "One night, that's all I'm asking for."

Hunger burned inside him anew. Usually, this kind of temptation only came before the kill, before he was about to take a victim, rip them apart and take something precious from them. Then again, this wasn't far from what Sylar was planning to do to her now that he had her permission. He wanted what she would give him, all of it. He wouldn't let go now until it was over. Her gift would kill the pain and the guilt and drown all the emotions that were stirring around his head.

Sylar swung his legs over her, straddling her. She was so small beneath him. "Are you sure about this?"

Claire shushed him and wrapped one arm around his waist, dragging him closer with a ferociousness born of desolation and heartache. Her voice purred out her answer, breathy and full of conviction. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"I won't leave you." He told her between kisses as his mouth moved from her lips, to her neck and down to her bare breasts. He knew then that no matter what happened, Sylar would not let danger anywhere near this girl. She needed a protector and that's what he would be for her. Forever.

Claire got his shirt off and chucked it in a pile beside the bed. Her fingers touched the little marks along his chest, scars he'd acquired through the years. She stopped on an old one, larger than the rest, that ran from his bellybutton all the way up the front of his ribs. "What happened?"

Sylar took her fingers away and sucked on each one of them before answering. "Primatech. First year I was there, some months into my stay, they decided to cut me open to see what made me tick. It was, needless to say, not a fun experience."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?" He asked and then nibbled her ear, revealing in the smell of her hair. She seemed to be made of sunshine, the light he'd never let into his life. Now it was bright and blinding, but it warmed him so much that he didn't care. All his life, Sylar had been trying to find a way to feel this warmth.

"Live with what they did to you and not go crazy." She answered as he tickled her earlobe. Her hands rested on his naked shoulders, her touch so full of heat. "I was only there two years and I'm not exactly the picture of sanity here."

"You're not that crazy." He pulled away and looked into her eyes, but her focus was still on the old wound. She seemed so worried for him, Sylar forced himself to make light of the incident. Sarcasm filled his voice as he joked, "Besides they sewed me back up again. That was nice of them."

She pursed her lips, not able to find the humor in it. "But don't you ever want to want to go crazy.. don't you ever want to get back those years they stole from you?"

He closed his eyes, whispering with such pure honesty that it hurt. "Everyday."

A frown fell across her lips; her thoughts never far from what they had both lived through. Sylar wanted to take her away from that world but it seemed to stay with her wherever they went, always haunting her and waiting to pounce. "It's not fair, what they did to us. They destroyed our lives and they're still hunting us. It'll never stop."

Sylar hovered over her, staying still as Claire ran her finger along his scar. Her touch replaced memories of Primatech's torture. Maybe it had all been worth it, to be held this way by someone like her, maybe there was a reason. "You're right. They'll always be out there but they don't own us, Claire."

"If they don't own us anymore, then who does?" Claire sought belonging, a person to hold onto in the future. He struggled to tell her that he couldn't be there for her forever, but before Sylar could reply, her hands reached for his belt buckle, undoing it and then working on getting his pants off too. "Can I be yours?"

He breathed in her scent, running his tongue against her fair neck to taste her innocence. He wondered if she had done this before, maybe with West. There was an eagerness burning inside her and a deep desire to please him that made him question whether she was a virgin. Not that Sylar had that much experience in the field either, his conquests had always come in the form of murder and death before. This was a whole other game, giving life to both of them instead of taking it away from the other.

"I need you," Claire whispered in his ear as he entered her and caused her to wince. He slid into her and she winced. "I need this."

He couldn't give her much but Sylar could give her this one night to take the pain away. One night and then he would be gone. They both needed this and he couldn't bring himself to say no.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Sylar woke to find himself tangled in the arms of the young blond, a beautiful girl who was nothing but trouble since the moment they started out on this trip together. She laid her head on his chest, her small naked body breathing softly as she slept. 

Somehow he found it harder to forgive himself for sleeping with her than to forgive all the trouble Claire caused him up to this point. He shouldn't have done it, not last night while she wasn't thinking straight. She would hate herself in the morning. Too many days spent on the road and too many hopes dashed away left her torn in two and longing for something she might never find. A home. A family.

It was all she wanted in the world, the only thing she could have after the company stole everything else from her. It was something Sylar could not give her. That decision and the power that came with it was taken from his hands and placed in those of his enemy, Peter Petrelli.

Sylar sighed, brushing her hair away from her face while she slept. In all his years, Sylar never felt more inadequate. He'd had been trying to help, to fix her and make her whole again, but people weren't like timepieces. Sometimes they couldn't be put back together again. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew how to help you."

He shifted Claire's weight off of him and onto the pillow beside him, making sure not to wake her. After the fight with Peter last night, she needed to sleep and gather her energy again. That one argument caused all the light to drain out of her. It messed with her mind so much that sleeping with him seemed like the logical course of actions.

He swung his feet onto the floor. The girl didn't know what she was getting herself into. Sylar wasn't proud of all the things he'd done in his life but he still wouldn't change it. The rules he'd broken were necessary to turn him into the man he was today. Every betrayal and murder was done to carefully orchestrate his fate. If she got caught in his web, Claire would have to change for him and he really didn't want her to.

While Sylar searched the room for his pants, he imagined Claire living with him, eventually murdering people with him and hiding from the police. It would destroy her, he realized as he climbed back into his pants. His world was no place for Claire to live, even if she had no place to go.

A strange emotion took hold of him as he watched over Claire. It took him a while to put his finger on it and fully make the connection from the heavy feeling in his heart to being able to name the emotion. It was guilt. Something he rarely felt and when he did, Sylar usually repressed it. He felt it now though and would not turn away. He had a job to finish, if Sylar could only figure out how to go about doing that.

He hadn't been expecting Peter's reaction, hadn't expected to be shown the door after so many days spent searching for him. After dressing, he bent down beside Claire and was glad she was still sleeping when he spoke. "I know you can't hear me but I'm going to make things right again. Then we can go our separate ways. You can have the family you want and I'll get my life back."

She woke slightly, still half asleep and mumbled something that sounded like, "What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head sadly. His words weren't important, she didn't need to know the plan. He would take care of it all. He bent near her, wanting to kiss her goodbye but thought better of it. Instead, he whispered in her ear. "Get some rest, Claire. Things'll be better in the morning. I promise."

Sylar picked the car keys up off the dresser. He jingled them in his hand, getting back to the reality of the plan that was forming in his head. He would find Peter and make that boy understand the importance of this girl here. If that failed and Peter refused to see the light, they could always pick up the epic battle that they left off years ago. Hopefully, the first option worked before Sylar had to resort to the second, for Claire's sake.

..to be continued..


	21. Chapter 21

The sun rose over the lake with so many colors Sylar could tell why Peter had chosen to settle down here. Away from the rest of the world, a person could still feel like they were a part of it all through the natural awe of the outdoors. It was a false connection though, built on lies and false indignation.

Peter was throwing everything he could have with Claire away, so he could hide up here alone and forget the life he once knew. It was up to Sylar to show him the truth, even if that meant beating reality into his tiny, pathetic skull.

He walked up the front steps and peeked in through the window, shading his eyes with one hand. There were no lights on inside and no signs that anyone was up this early in the morning. Peter was going to be in for quite a surprise when he woke up.

As Sylar phased through the wall, he contemplated what he would do after Claire and Peter reunited, what he would do without her. He shook off the thought almost immediately. Those kinds of ideas were what led to the incident the night before, which he was eagerly trying to forget. Once Claire was gone, things could go back to normal and he would be able to go back to being dead inside. It was so much easier when he didn't have to feel anything.

Despite all efforts to misplace the memory of her skin against his own, the way she nibbled at his lip when they kissed or how she opened for him and drew him in, Sylar couldn't push the thoughts far enough away. Images of her lying naked on the bed, moving beneath him poked their way past the wall he fixed in his mind, pushing their way through his resistance. Sylar grumbled quietly, "Next time I work alone."

Walking down the hallway, he grounded himself in the present moment, the scent of cedar and firewood and the rustic furnishings. The walls were all wood, very natural, probably cut from logs around the neighborhood almost a century ago. He peered up the stairs, wondering where he should start his search for the younger Petrelli brother.

Sylar moved farther down the hall and into the living room. There were picture frames and photographs on every flat surface possible; over the fireplace, the bookshelves, the end tables, some were even tacked up along the walls. They all held the same four faces. Sylar only knew the two boys; Nathan and Peter Petrelli. He assumed the older gentleman and the woman were their parents. It was a living shrine, a monument to the dead.

When he checked the photos more closely, Sylar noticing some of the photographs were cut in two, others were missing torn out sections. In one of these particular photos, the edges of the missing person's blond hair were still there. The photograph was folded in half and stuck in the frame. Sylar picked it off the fireplace mantel, opened the back and took out the picture.

The smiling face of Claire starred back at him once Sylar unfolded the picture. Nathan was hugging her in the group shot, with Peter standing behind them seemingly at peace with the world. It was photographic evidence that for one moment in time, she was happy and whole. She had the kind of family Gabriel once longed for after his own father split and left town.

He slammed the frame and picture down on the mantel and grimaced, full of disgust for anyone who would abandon their family. "You cut her out of your life and leave her to clean up the mess. Good job, Peter. You're a real fucking hero."

Sylar moved on to the back of the house, where a giant library with full wall length windows overlooked the woods. In a leather chair, with his feet up on a stool and one hand still clutching the beer from the night before, Peter Petrelli slept sitting up, completely oblivious to the world around him.

"Peter, wake up." Sylar singsonged as he crept into the room. He knocked Peter's feet off the leather stool and sat down in front of him. He yelled a little louder. "Peter! This is your conscious speaking. It's time to wake up and stop being such an asshole."

When Peter's snoring went up a decibel in reply, Sylar rose to his feet and kicked the stool away in one abrupt motion. Now that his powers were working again, one flick of his wrist was all it took to send Peter crashing into the ceiling and pin him there.

"What the-- Sylar!" His eyes narrowed at his enemy as Peter started to wake, startled by the sudden height and vertigo. He groaned, whether it was from the hangover he must have by this point or the force of Sylar's telekinesis, neither could tell. "Son of a bitch! What are you doing in my home?"

Sylar starred up at him, disinterested in playing games. This was serious and Peter was going to have to start treating it as such. "I was going to go the friendly route, for Claire's sake, but you didn't seem to be responding to the gentle approach."

He sat down in the leather chair, enjoying the sight of Peter writhing on the ceiling above him. He brought the stool over and put his feet up. The only way this could have been better would be to have some ice cream to go with the show. "We need to talk about things regarding your niece. Mostly about how you've been treating her lately."

Peter struggled against the invisible force, but with such a massive hangover he could not call on his powers yet. "I don't have a niece."

"Still in denial?" Sylar sent a book from off one of the high shelves into the room careening into Peter's head. After Peter winced and let out a small cry from the impact of the hard-covered book hitting his temple, Sylar sent another one flying in his direction. "I could do this all day, Peter. And then I could start with the heavier objects. And the sharper ones. Or we could talk about the oh-so-taboo subject of Claire Bennet."

"You want to talk, fine, let's talk." Peter spit out as he bounced against the ceiling, while Sylar's powers held him like glue in the air and his own powers started to emerge through the hangover daze. He wanted down but Sylar was content to make gravity work against him. "They tortured my brother so he would give them her location after she moved away from Costa Verde but he wouldn't say a word, so they rooted through his mind with a telepath until he was nothing but a shell. And then they killed him."

"Do you ever get tired of the poor-me-I'm-so-emo speechifying?" Sylar interrupted, looking absolutely bored out of his mind. He released Peter and watched him drop to the floor ungracefully. After landing on his face, Peter spent some time gathering the strength to move.

As he rolled over onto his back, Sylar relished the pain clearly etched across his face. He walked over to Peter and leaned over him, "And has it ever occurred to you that maybe Claire had it just as rough?"

Peter winced as he pushed himself up to a seated position. His glare never left Sylar's direction as he spoke. "From what I hear, she lived a perfect little life in some suburb out west, hiding like a coward with her godforsaken family while mine was picked off one by one by the company while they tried to find her."

"You have no idea what she went through, do you?" Sylar narrowed his eyes. Before he could tell Peter how wrong he was about Claire living out a perfect life with her family, he was knocked across the room by a burst of telekinesis. His head hit the wall, sending a wave of blackness through his vision. He hadn't been expecting Peter to regain his strength so quickly and did not particularly like being on this side of the power struggle.

"How bad could her life have been?" Peter scrambled to his feet, his eyes darkening. Sylar knew this look well, though he was usually the one wearing it. There was little room for logical thought to filter in through the cloud of violence and revenge. "She disappeared for years so she could go off and have a normal life. We were left to deal with the aftermath. She couldn't even be reached after Nathan's death. I thought she might want to come to her own father's funeral. I guess not."

"Do you really think she would miss that?" Sylar asked but the only reply was Peter shooting a bolt of lightening at his chest. He missed by an inch but Sylar could swear he smelled the sleeve of his shirt burning. That was a nifty little ability there. If Claire's interests didn't demand to come before his own, Sylar would have enjoyed stealing it from Peter. "Claire wanted to be a part of Nathan's life, everyone knew that. Hell, I even knew that I didn't exactly run in your crowd. The only reason she never came to the funeral was because she was already underground at the company's facility."

Peter aimed for another round of electrifying energy but faltered and lowered his hand. "Wha-- what?" Peter's guard dropped, for an instant Sylar thought he might believe him. There was the slightest recognition of the truth in his features. That belief quickly died away; Peter began building energy again, refusing to listen. "You're lying. She wasn't.. she couldn't have been down there. I would have known."

"Unless Primatech didn't want you to know she was there." Sylar floated a small metal paperweight off on of the desks; if Peter didn't back down from this fight Sylar was going to have to beat him unconscious. It wasn't something he would feel too guilty about afterwards. Still, despite Sylar's desire to do some real damage to the boy, he also wanted to get the truth through to him. "They have a way of hiding the truth and keeping it buried. You know how they work. Or did you forget how they covered up the real cause of Nathan's death?"

Peter frowned as Sylar caught his attention; the faintest bits of truth were beginning to make their way into his brain. The blue energy swirling around his hand lessened just a bit. Yet, denial sunk its nails in him, refusing to let go.

"Come on, Peter, think about it before you go off shooting first and asking questions when we're all dead: Why do you think she and I started working together anyway? We just decided one day 'hey, I'm tired of trying to kill you, maybe we can hang and be best buds now'?" Sylar rolled his eyes, the prospect of him and Claire being on the same side without an outside force pushing them together almost laughable.

Peter seemed to lose all interest in fighting, finally able to accept that there might be some validity behind his enemy's statements. As Sylar expected, the deal clincher was the alliance he'd formed with Claire. Apparently, it was as strange in Peter's mind as it was in his own. "How long was she down there?"

"Two years." Sylar relaxed and returned the heavy paperweight to its proper spot. Peter would listen to him now, he was sure of it. "When I escaped, I brought her out with me. She was kind of.. broken." His voice faltered on that word, remembering how defeated she was the first few days outside of the company. Peter heard the hesitation in Sylar's voice and new worry crossed his face, surprising them both. "She would barely speak a word but she's doing better now.. mostly. She just doesn't have a place to go."

Peter backed up and held up his hands in defense, understanding what Sylar was suggesting. "She can't stay here. I have a life here.. a quiet, secluded life and she can't--" Another book flew at his head, interrupting his many excuses as it collided with the back of his head. When Peter's hands balled up into fists, Sylar couldn't help smirking. "Damn it. Stop doing that!"

"Stop being a selfish moron and I'll stop hitting you with random objects." Sylar shrugged; amused at the way he could still annoy Peter, even while trying to do the good thing. "Deal?"

Peter hissed out the anger inside him, releasing it slowly. The restraint Peter showed by not continuing the fight amused Sylar to no end. He knew the boy still wanted to throw down but that wouldn't help either of them. Damn Claire for getting in the middle of an epic battle.

A picture hanging on the wall was crooked, having been knocked into during their fight. Peter moved to fix it, focusing on something other than the deep need of his to do some violence and spoke. "I don't know if Claire would fit in my world now or if she would even like it here."

"A cozy, boring house with a lakeside view, who wouldn't like it?" Sylar said sarcastically as he leaned against the arm of one of the sofas that occupied the middle of the room. Settling down would never suit him. He'd never found a place he could call home for more than a few days at a time. Claire would be happy here though. She could lie on the beach and work on her tan, get some color into her cheeks after how pale she'd grown in the company.

She could forget about the company and about all the dangers out there in the world, including him. It would be better for her. She'd have a happy, normal life and Sylar would just disappear.

"Besides," he added more seriously, "the only option for her is to stay with me. And that's not going to happen. I need my space."

"So you can kill people?" Peter turned back to face him, defenses going up again. It was a rhetorical question; they both knew he hadn't changed. Sylar would continue to do what came naturally to him until the end of time or his own death, whichever came first.

Sylar refused to answer. Instead, he walked over to Peter, grabbed his arm and began leading him towards the front entrance of the house. "Come on."

Peter twisted out of Sylar's hold but followed him to the door anyway. Sylar had a plan and Peter seemed content to join in the idea for the time being. He reached for his keys, which hung on a rustic, wooden sign that resembled a painted fish. "Where are we going?"

"Back to the motel to see Claire." Sylar answered, opening the front door and waiting for Peter to lock it behind them. He met Peter's gaze and a new, deadly determination entered his voice. "You're going to apologize to her."

Peter broke away from the stare and paused. His fingers numbly grasped the door lock. He seemed to be considering kicking Sylar out and returning to his old life. He glanced behind him, down the long, empty hallway of his big, secluded house. He may have finally begun thinking of Claire, worrying about her safety and the past that still haunted her, but apologizing was another big step. "And if I don't.."

"If you don't," Sylar thought of a good punishment as he dragged Peter outside and closed the door. He wasn't letting him off the hook so easily. He finished with a pointblank answer that held no room for backing out. "I'm going to kill you."

..to be continued..


	22. Chapter 22

Claire woke up in bed alone just as the sun began to peak through the curtains. Her head rested on a pillow, not on the soft shoulder she fell asleep on. She reached her hand out to Sylar's side of the bed hoping to find him still there beside her. When all her hand touched nothing but empty air, Claire opened her eyes.

He was gone. He didn't appear to be in the hotel room at all.

Sylar's shoes and the car keys were missing too, sure signs that he had taken off for parts unknown.

Maybe he was the kind of man who left after sex. They were the ones that disappeared into the night as soon as they were done getting what they came for and didn't need the girl anymore. She'd heard about that type but didn't have enough experience in the bedroom to know how to read the signs.

Claire hated feeling so naive to the world. She should have known he wouldn't stick around for her, especially after she told him that one night was all she needed. She couldn't ask him for more; Claire knew she was a lot to deal with at times. Even Peter didn't want her around anymore.

Though the way Sylar held her last night, watching over her as she fell asleep and protecting her from doing anymore harm to herself, she wondered if that meant anything at all to him. He'd been so gentle, whispering to her as she fell into a deep sleep. He told her he didn't want to ever see her hurt again. He warned her not to do anything more to herself, because he looked after those things he cared about and her safety was top on his list of important things now.

How could he just disappear after that? But then again, how could a cold, hard killer talk sweetly like that to her? Maybe it was just another one of her silly, wishful dreams. And he was known to be manipulative after all.

Claire laid her hand above her heart, touching the place that should have held a scar from the scissors she so haphazardly plunged into herself. There was nothing to show for her night of self-mutilation; though she could swear she still felt the scissors slicing through her even now. It wasn't an all too unpleasant feeling. It gave her an outlet for the emotional pain that tore at her heart.

It had been years since she'd done anything so drastic. The company was smart enough not to let her near sharp objects, more for their own safety than for hers. Before that, only Zach and West knew about her masochistic habit, what could have been at some points more of an addiction. The former thought she was only trying to test her limits. West understood her true reasonings for what she would do to herself, what she still did. He hated it and told her to stop too many times to count. At least she was a quick healer.

After last night, Sylar knew this secret too. He knew what she was and what she did. Maybe that's why he left. Maybe he couldn't take her constant craziness and decided to make a break for someplace he could get away from her insanity. She couldn't blame him.

Claire stretched and walked to the bathroom, phantom pain from the night before running up and down her thighs and straight up into her. She knew she shouldn't enjoy the way he made her ache in all the right places. He'd previously tried to kill her. Then, last night everything changed and he was suddenly screwing her so hard Claire thought she might burst and split apart. Perhaps wanting to feel him inside of her and have him do these things to her was another form of self-injurious behavior.

She ran the water in the bathtub and retrieved some bubble bath soap from the bathroom cabinet. She would take a long hot bath and then figure out what to do next. It was no use worrying about her next move until Claire was fully awake and possibly until she was sure whether Sylar was coming back or not. She poured a bit of the lavender liquid into the water, watching it form white fluffy bubbles.

Claire paused to take a look at the damage done to her hair. It wasn't that bad, only slightly uneven but not even that noticeable. It gave her an older appearance more befitting the woman she had grown up to be, not the teenager that she would never be again. Maybe she could begin a new life now, without the old one constantly holding her back.

The door to the bedroom opened and closed and she heard someone enter the room. Claire darted out of the bathroom with a huge smile on her lips. Possibly with breakfast, something smelt a little burnt. It didn't matter, she was starved.

"You came back! You had me worri--"

A young woman not much older than Claire stood where she hoped and expected to find Sylar. Her smile fell and she watched as the other girl raised her hand; a blue ball of energy swirled around inside her palm. "Claire Bennet, you've been a very hard girl to track down. You're so popular everyone's out looking for you but here you are, caught in my net."

"Who are you?" Claire glanced around the room, searching for a weapon. Of course Sylar had to melt the only sharp implement in the room down last night. If only she hadn't been so busy impaling herself on those scissors, he would have let her keep them. They would have came in handy right about now. Then an even worse thought crossed her mind. "Did you hurt him?"

"Who?" The woman with the deep blue eyes and even deeper blue lightening ball laughed. "Sylar? Oh please, who do you think's the one who led me to you? He told me exactly where you were hiding." She wrinkled her nose. "And he also told me you were pretty bad in bed."

Claire's mouth fell, the answers all laid out for her. She didn't know whether or not to believe this woman though. Sylar couldn't have given her up just like that. Not after what he said to her the night before. He couldn't.. could he?

Claire thought of Brody, that football jock in high school who told her she was pretty and smart and funny and everything else she wanted to hear all so he could sleep with her and tell the whole football team about how precious little Claire gave it up to him.

Most men were liars. She wouldn't put it past Sylar to be any different that the rest.

"Aww.. what? Did you honestly think he cared about you?" The woman cocked her head to the side with glee. "Come on, honey, you're smart enough to figure out when a guy just wants a little fuck buddy in the sack, aren't you? Then again, you have lived quite a sheltered life, maybe you're a little too new at this game."

Fighting back her tears was getting more and more difficult. Claire wouldn't give in to this girl's taunts though. She should have known better than to trust Sylar. It was her fault for letting her guard down, for following him around like a lost little puppy. She wouldn't blame him for doing exactly what was in his nature. "I--I don't care."

"I think you do," The woman sing-songed. "I think little Claire Bennet is in loooove."

That caught Claire completely by surprised and left her mind screaming in denial. What drugs was this woman on to think that Claire would ever fall for that man? Even if he did have really nice biceps and gorgeous eyes and was protective over her and-- "Aww, fuck."

"See, it's true." She sat on the bed, the one Claire and Sylar first had sex in and smoothed her hand over the mattress. "Little Claire-bear's in love and fucking a murderous monster who's killed more people than I can count on one hand. Hell, on both hands combined." Her eyes lit up and Claire could tell this woman knew things about her past, things she could use against her at any given time. Her mouth played with her next words, loving every syllable. "What would your father think? Noah's probably rolling over in his grave."

"How dare you talk about my father! How dare you even mention his name, you bitch!" Claire didn't have time to think before she moved, all the rage at the company spilled out into her actions. She rushed the bed, throwing her hands around the woman's slender neck and tackled her on the bed.

Claire got in a few quick punches, bruising the perfect cheeks of the other blond. She wasn't going to be quite so pretty by the time Claire got through with her. The woman reacted, at first just throwing her arms up in defense but after she got passed the shock of the would-be prisoner violently attacking her, her defense grew to a very strong offense.

The woman's hand grabbed Claire's throat, forcing electricity through her body and making Claire buck against it's currency. It felt like getting hit by lightening. Even her fast-healing body could not repair itself quickly enough to stop her from losing a few precious moments of the fight. The woman chucked Claire off of her and onto the floor.

Her act of rebellion was pitiful, a failed attempt at fighting back. She would always need someone there to protect her because she sure couldn't do it herself. Too bad Sylar had gone and dumped her like yesterday's trash.

She starred up helplessly as the woman pointed her glowing palm down at Claire, readying to electrify her once again. "Listen up, precious. Daddy said not to kill you just yet, so I'm going to follow his orders for now. Lord knows, I'm in enough trouble with him as it is for letting the two of you escape the first time. But you try that again and I'll make you wish you were dead."

It didn't matter what this woman said, there was no way Claire was giving up so easily. Even though she felt helpless didn't mean the company could drag her back there not without a damn good fight. When the woman retrieved her cellphone from her pocket, Claire measured the distance to the door with her mind. The only question was whether she should make a break for it before or after she kicked this woman's ass.

"Hey, Daddy. It's Elle." She said over the phone as Claire readied to rush for the door. "No. No problem. I'm just calling to tell you that I've found Claire and I'll be bringing her in tonight." There was another pause in her conversation and Claire inched closer to the escape route. "No-- no, you don't have to send a van. I'll be fine. No-- I--"

She didn't have anymore time to waste, so Claire got to her feet and ran for the door. What seemed like only a few feet took forever to cross, the brief time extending into what felt like an eternity. Her hand reached for the doorknob, shaking as it tried to open the door. She could hear Elle behind her, moving to stand behind her patiently.

"I gotta go, Daddy. Someone's not being a very nice captive." The phone clicked off and Elle shoved it back into her pants. Her voice was gentle and curious, displaying none of her malicious intent, which only made it seem all the more disturbing. "Are you going somewhere, Claire? Oh, and by the way, it's locked dimwit."

Claire turned around to face Elle, her back against the door and her eyes went wide as she saw the amount of energy that was growing in the woman's hand. She fumbled with the door lock but knew it was no use; she'd be unconscious before she could open it. Her only satisfaction was the bruises on Elle's face, the one's she'd left there. They wouldn't heal quite so quickly as the ones Claire received.

"I'll give you two options here, Shorty. You come along back to the company, don't make a sound and obey every order given to you." Elle narrowed her blue eyes at her and played with the ball of electricity. She laughed as she thought up the second option, "Or I do something very nasty but really, really fun. Come on, it'll be a blast! You know what, scratch that. You don't get to choose. Not anymore."

The ball of lightening hit Claire in the chest, forcing all the air out of her lungs. She coughed but fell to the floor, her hand still grasping the doorknob. The next bolt seemed to go straight into her brain, giving the world a hazy shade and blurry lines. She blinked and fell backwards.

"And to think, this was all Sylar's fault. If he didn't give us your location, I never would have been able to find you. You really know how to pick your men, don't you?" Elle mocked. Then she grabbed Claire's hair and sent another round of electricity through her brain to knock her out.

The world was filled with harsh laughter while all of Claire's other senses grew dim. The last thing she felt were handcuffs on her wrists and regret for falling in love with someone she couldn't trust.

..to be continued..


	23. Chapter 23

Not shortly after beginning their drive to the bed and breakfast, Sylar and Peter realized that any conversation between them was only going to lead to more bickering. They found it impossible to put up with each other and simply stopped talking halfway through the drive. It was either that or Sylar was going to telekinetically make it so Peter would have to keep his lips shut.

When Sylar finally pulled the car into the bed and breakfast parking lot, he turned to Peter and broke the silence with some more verbal jabs. "Ready to stop being a dick and go apologize? Or should I get ready for another fight and prepare to kill you now? Cause either option is fine with me."

"I really hate you." Peter frowned and starred out at the building. He sighed to himself. "And I'm pretty sure she hates me by now. Why are you making me do this anyway?"

The edges of his scar were fading, healing the deeply etched line to make it appear smoother and finer. Sylar watched throughout the car ride as Peter's regenerative powers seemed to spring back to life, though he was sure his passenger didn't notice it yet. "Maybe I just want to make you suffer and this seems to be a good way to annoy you."

"No." He narrowed his eyes at Sylar, suddenly noticing something wasn't quite right about his actions today, something was a little strange. Peter was pretty good at deducing things when he wanted to get down to the details. It was probably part of the reason they'd become mortal enemies. They were each other's opposites and yet far more similar than each wanted to believe. "There's something more. You wouldn't be helping her like this if you didn't.. oh, my god."

Sylar squirmed under Peter's gaze. The tables were turned as control was wrenched out of his grasp. Being studied like this brought back the feeling of his old cell and scientists and captivity. He refused to let Peter get to him like that so he sat there, calmly as possible which wasn't so calmly at all. "What? What's wrong?"

"Son of a bitch! You're in love with my niece!" Peter's mouth fell into a thin line as he punched the passenger window with the side of his hand. When the word niece left his mouth, the rest of his scar healed, leaving no trace that there was ever any wound there at all. "You would have killed her already and sucked her powers dry if you didn't care about her. You're actually helping her and trying to put her family back together again. Why else would you do that?"

"What? No! I--" Sylar sighed and shrank into his seat. "I-- I don't know! I don't understand what I feel.. What does it matter? The second you make things right with her and I know you're not going to turn her out to the streets, I'm leaving. Fucked up feelings or not, I am out of here."

"Then let's get to it." Peter exited the car and slammed the car door shut. His reluctance seemed to be getting replaced with the protective urge to keep Sylar away from his niece. At least it was a step in the right direction, even if Sylar couldn't help feeling shut out of Claire's life. Everything would be over in a matter of minutes and life would go on as if this journey had never happened. "The sooner I can get you out of my life, the better.

"For once, I wholeheartedly agree with you." Sylar followed behind him with the room key. He couldn't repress the emptiness that took hold of him with the knowledge that Claire would be leaving soon.

It would be better this way. He could go on being her hero without screwing up and letting his true nature out. Not that it would be any big surprise to her that he couldn't stop murdering people. It was like an addiction and even though he cut back a little for her this week, she still accused him of it almost daily. Still, those accusations lacked the evidence that would come to light if she stayed with him. If she didn't leave now, she would soon know everything that he was capable of and she would hate him for it.

The lock turned in the door and they walked into the room, to the chaos that existed within its four walls. The mattress was hanging off the bed. A hole was punched through the wall, about the same size as a small fist. The cheap television was broken and lying in the middle of the room. Worst of all though, Claire was missing. Peter stepped across the threshold, his muscles tense and ready to hurt whoever touched his niece. "Where is she?"

"I don't know." Sylar answered. He rushed into the room and couldn't help feeling stupid for leaving her there alone. It was a sloppy mistake, especially with the company still gunning for their capture.

He took a breath and pieced it together. There had obviously been a fight, most likely with someone from the company. He knelt to check their bags, sorting through to see what else was taken and maybe gain a few more clues. "But I'm going to kill whoever took her."

"I really doubt you're going to be able to pull that off, Sylar." A woman stepped out from the bathroom. She shot a bolt of electricity towards him, enough wattage to knock him into the wall but not enough to kill him. "But if you really want to fight, I'm all for it."

"Elle." Sylar groaned and looked at the hole in his shirt and his charred stomach beneath it. "I'm a little surprised you were picked for this bag-and-tag. Didn't your father kick you out of the company a month ago when he found you screwing the janitor?"

The television went hurtling in her direction but Elle sidestepped it and let it smash into the wall behind her. She waved off his angry outburst. "Daddy and I made up. We've got some issues to take care of at the company, namely retrieving two escapees but I've been working with Prescott to bring an end to this matter."

"Wait, you two know each other..?" Peter, who had been silent through this whole conversation finally jumped in. Sylar nodded as he got back on his feet. "Did she help you get out of the company too?"

Elle could only listen as he spoke, memories flashing across her mind. "No, Peter. You're the only one I've ever helped escape. That was a long time ago and I've learned my lesson by now. Never trust a pretty face who says he'll take you away from everything if you'll just get him the key to his cell. Oh, and about ditching me like that?" She shot energy in Peter's direction, singeing his arm to answer the question.

"You seem to have gotten into a habit of ditching people, Peter. Good job with that." Sylar commented wit a dry laugh. They both glared at him in unison and he shut up. The tension between these two could be quite useful to his plan.

Elle crossed the room and frowned with regret. Her hand caressed Peter's cheek as he stood there, transfixed by her touch. Sylar wondered just how close these two had been and what exactly were the rules of their deal, though he doubted either would tell him. "I really didn't know you would be here, Peter. I'm sorry. I was only looking for Sylar and Claire."

She bent in for a kiss, faintly touching her mouth to his. Then, without warning she kneed him in the crotch. Peter bent with the blow and Elle laughed at his pain. Her revenge seemed to fill her with an almost childlike joy. That distraction was all Sylar needed to execute his attack.

With his mind, he grabbed all the small objects in the room and hurled them at Elle. She blocked them with the skill of someone who had been trained to fight since she was very young. The phone hit her squarely in the jaw, right below another bruise from a previous fight. A pencil nearly impaled itself into her arm. Then the television remote went hurtling to her side but Elle deftly swatted away by her arm.

The remote turned in the air and came back for a second try, as did all the other objects. They pinned her clothes to the wall and Elle along with them, hitting her with as much force as a tornado. She ripped at her clothes, but they were tacked up to the wall. She couldn't move or run away; she was completely and utterly stuck.

Sylar knew how her powers worked, somehow he just _knew_. Some would call it intuitive aptitude, he would call it being a genius. "Peter, there's a wastebasket in the bathroom under the skin. Go fill that with water. Elle here looks like she could use a good soak."

Peter hurried away, after regaining his dignity and the power to move again. As Elle heard the running water, she struggled harder and brought her lips into a small pout. Sylar would have found the show exciting if she wasn't such a pain in his ass.

While Sylar stared Elle down, his vision fell on a small hole in the wall that led to the next bedroom. He cocked his head and inspected the hole with his finger before punching right through the wall. His fist wrapped around wires and cords, pulling them out along with the hidden camera they were attached to. "You little bitch. You were watching us!"

"Only since last night." Elle shrugged as much as she could in her bindings. Then a devious look crossed her face and she added, "But what a show you put on last night, what with the thrusting and the.. grunting.."

Peter joined them soon enough to hear the last bit of Elle's taunting. In his anger, he completely forgot about Elle and the water and the plan that they were supposed to be following. Instead, he turned to Sylar with all the fury of an overprotective family member. "What did you do to my niece last night?!"

When he didn't answer, Peter's jaw tightened, his face grew red and his fist clenched into tense fists. All his focus was on Sylar now, that and the burning anger he held for the man.

Sylar started to fear their plan might go awry. Peter would just as likely kill him than help interrogate Elle. Throwing up his hands, Sylar explained so that hopefully they could get back to torturing the blond. "Me and Claire.. enjoyed ourselves last night. And might I remind you that you swore up until an hour ago that you didn't have a niece anyway. So, really, what they hell do you care what I do with her?"

Peter reacted by slamming his fist into Sylar's face. He got in a good shot but then Sylar grabbed his arm when he tried for another. He twisted away and the arguing was on again. "I can't believe you! How dare you touch Claire?"

"You can fight me all you want or you can help me get Claire back. What's it going to be? We don't have time for both." Sylar yelled back, his hold on Elle loosing a bit while he was preoccupied. Luckily, the random object still held her tightly pinned up to the wall.

Peter grit his teeth, thinking this over and paused before figuring out what to do next. Then, he chucked the wastebasket full of water at Sylar's head. It hit him hard and the wasted water drenched him from head to toe, forming a puddle around his feet. Sylar wiped wet hair from his forehead. "Thank you, Peter. That was very grown up. Really." Then he glared back at the Petrelli and pointed to the woman still strung up on the wall. "But she's not going to stay up there forever. Next time, the water goes on her."

"Just so you know, I really don't like you ordering me around." Peter slammed the heels of his hands into Sylar's wet chest, pushing him back harshly. He picked up the bucket and returned to the bathroom to fill it up again.

Elle started laughing in his absence, finding the sight of Sylar's clothes soaking wet as the water still dripped off him hilarious. This was really not the best way to interrogate a subject. Her giggles died down when Peter threw a bucketful of water over her, immobilizing her electricity powers. She sputtered out a mouthful of water. "Ewww.."

"Okay, Elle, start talking." Sylar started, grabbing her face so she would look at him. Even drenched and dripping wet, he was still a force of considerable fury. "What did you do to Claire? Where is she?"

"I'm not telling." She bit her lips closed but Sylar smacked her across the face, making her teeth dig into her lips. Her teeth bit into her lips, drawing blood. She winced and closed her eyes. "You can't make me tell. I don't care what you do to me. Your girl is locked away where you'll never get to see her again. And once I call my reinforcements, you'll be locked away too. Both of you."

"Oh, the reinforcements you were going to call with this phone?" Peter asked from the background, picking up her cellphone from the floor where it fell during the fight. He wiggled it at her and she made a failed attempt to reach off the wall and retrieve it from his hands. He threw it down on the floor, crushing it under his shoe. "Sorry. This phone line has been disconnected."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" She gasped. "That was my birthday present."

"Too bad." Sylar grinned, almost enjoying the tag team he made with Peter. At least the younger boy wasn't chucking things at his head anymore. "Now if you don't start talking I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I'm dying to try out on you. And I'm sure Peter has picked up a few hidden talents through the years."

"Psionic blasts, fire manipulation, weather control, disintegration.." Peter counted up the number of powers he now could control on his fingers and Elle's eyes went wide. "Come on, Elle, you wanna see how it feels to have your body wither and turn to dust."

"I'll tell you." She shouted. "I'll tell!"

"Good. I feel we're really making some progress, Elle. We're really connecting here and that's good, because now I know you'll do exactly what I ask." Sylar ran a hand down her cheek and then held her chin with his thumb. He could feel her swallow a breath, the poor little thing was scared. She had good cause to be because if she didn't follow his rules, she was going to die. "Now tell me where the company took Claire."

"She's at our International Headquarters in Canada. It's a three hour drive from here."

"Take me there."

She nodded, frightened into submission.

..to be continued..


	24. Chapter 24

"Isn't this ironic, Elle? You brought this handcuffs for me and now I'm using them on you." Sylar locked her hands behind her and threaded the handcuffs through the seatbelt, making sure Elle wouldn't be able to move from her place in the backseat.

Peter stood beside the open car door, giving Sylar some cover from the attention of passerbys. It's not like the tourists wouldn't know what a pair of handcuffs were used for though. From the random thoughts Sylar kept overhearing, most of the newlywed couples rooming there had a pair hidden away in their suitcases.

Elle wiggled her hands after Sylar was done. The handcuffs made little metallic clinking noises against each other. She was positively stuck. "What if we crash and the car goes up in flames and I need to get out? I don't exactly trust your driving skills."

"Well, if that happens.." Sylar paused, pretending to think deeply about this possibility before simply shrugging. He gave an offhanded answer. "I suppose you'll die a horrible, miserable, fiery death. I guess you should have thought of that before you and the company kidnapped Claire."

He slammed her door shut before she could reply. By the time he and Peter were settled in the front seats, Elle was whining again. "Come on, Peter. Help me out here. You don't have to work with Sylar, you know. The company is always willing to take you back. We'll even offer you a nice gig as an agent. You can do what I do, wouldn't that be fun?"

"Trust me, Elle. You're not what I want to turn into. As soon as we get Claire, I'm leaving you as far behind as possible." Peter shut her down as Sylar pulled out of the parking lot and stopped at the main road. He crossed his arms and starred out the car window.

"Which way do we turn, Elle?" Sylar glanced in the rear view mirror and waited for her to give the first set of directions. A deep frown fell across her face, which at first Sylar mistook for annoyance at having to go along with enemy plans. Then he saw the few tears that followed and knew her mood was caused by Peter's words.

"Turn right. You have to go north on I-91." Elle told him as she maintained an unfazed disguise as best she could but it was too late to protect her emotions. Sylar saw the truth laid out there before she put the wall back up again. "We'll stay on that road for about two hours."

After making the turn, Sylar decided then that it might be useful to probe how deep the feelings went on both sides of this equation. After all, there was no use in sitting in a car with his enemies if he couldn't push the chess pieces around. It served them right anyway. Peter was and always had been an ass to Sylar. And Elle was responsible for Claire's disappearance. "So, Peter, was she any good in bed?"

"What?!" An audible gasp came from the backseat as Peter snapped his head around to see Sylar smirking at him. He rolled his eyes and went back to starring out the window, "I'm not answering that."

Sylar sensed pain behind that avoidance and and knew he was cutting down close to the bone. Good. The presence of still harbored feelings boded well for his plan. "I bet she was worth a good tussle or two under the sheets. Right before you used her and dumped her. Do you think she still cares about you? I bet she cries herself to sleep some nights wondering when her pathetic empath will come back to her."

"Christ! Can't you ever just shut up?" Peter seethed.

"How about it Elle?" Sylar asked and watched as she squirmed. She was so close to breaking down; he could feel the tension in the air and Sylar loved every second of it. He finally found a way to hurt her, a way to get back at what she did to Claire. "Do you still want him? Be honest. I'm sure given your.. charming.. personality Peter would love to take a bitch like you back."

Elle grit her teeth and then kicked Sylar seat with her foot. The unexpected motion sent him forward, his chest bumped hard into the steering wheel and his forehead crashed into the front window. Sylar almost lost control of the car as it spun out on the road but managed to maneuver it back into the correct direction using his telekinesis.

"You psycho bitch!" Sylar slammed the controls into park and opened his door, intent on getting out of the car and knocking Elle unconscious. He really didn't not like surprise attacks, not unless he was the one in charge of them. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Peter checked himself for damage and then grabbed Sylar's arm before he left the car. "Sylar, this is not the time to start anything with Elle. We still need her to get us to Claire. Get back in the car now!"

Sylar paused in his rage, knowing but hating the fact that Peter was right. Once they got to the company though, all bets were off. He could wait that long, he would look forward to planning how she would die for hurting him and hurting Claire. "Fine." Sylar telepathically added, _"But I still want to know what happened between you two. Call me curious but I think it might help us with Claire."_

Peter sighed and then replied silently, _"Me and Elle have a really fucking complicated past, okay? The first time I was taken by the company, she swore she fell in love with me. Of course, love in her world is a twisted shadow of what it should be. When the company took me the second time, Elle said she'd do anything for me. She was fucking obsessed. Not right in the head by any means. I told her a few lies to get her to let me go. I said we'd be together forever, which was exactly what she wanted to hear."_

Sylar laughed as the truth came out. _"You know, the prisoners back there tell stories of your great escape. Some of them don't even know your name but your story lives on. Of course, they tell it as an epic tale of how you risked everything and bravely went against the company. They forget the part about how you only slept your way to the top."_

_"Oh please."_ Peter rolled his eyes. _"Like you haven't done that and worse."_

Sylar ignored the pointed comment and then replied. _"If things go bad up there, I need you to use that against her. Play against any emotions you think she might have."_

_"I was already planning to."_

They seemed to be on the same wavelength, which may have been a sign of a coming apocalypse.

* * *

What should have taken three hours by car, Sylar was able to narrow down into one and a half. He pushed the car as fast as it would go, ignoring all speed signs and other cars on the road. Even the few police cars they noticed on the interstate did little to slow him down. His one thought was to get to Claire and take her as far away from the company as possible. The safety of all others on the road, including himself and his passengers, mattered very little in his plans.

"You have to take this exit."

Sylar followed Elle's directions, turning off and slowing down. A line of toll booths were located right before a large sign that proclaimed 'Welcome to Canada'. If Elle was telling the truth, Primatech's International Headquarters were just over the border and so was Claire. If she wasn't being honest, well then.. Elle was going to die a very unpleasant death. Either way, Sylar would be happy with the result.

Peter leaned forward to read the sign overhead that showed the toll prices. He fished out the correct amount from his pocket and handed it to Sylar. "Do you have a photo id on you? They're going to ask for one."

"Of course. I stole it off a dead guy." Sylar yanked the driver's license from his pocket. The picture didn't resemble him at all. He hoped the toll booth operator wouldn't notice the fact that his hair was a different color and his skin much darker than the fellow he had killed in Texas. Sylar didn't want to be slowed down by having to kill one of the rent-a-cop border officers just to enter the godforsaken country.

Elle struggled against her handcuffs, bending sideways to see if she could spot the keyhole on them. She smiled as they arrived as they neared the front of the line for the toll booth. "You just wait until they see that you've got me chained up here. Border officers have guns.. with bullets.. that are going to shoot you dead!"

Sylar smirked and pushed her up straight with his telekinesis. She struggled against his control mentally but physically appeared calm as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Every little muscle was forced into peaceful composure. "If you think an average, normal human is enough to stop me, then you're sadly mistaken, little girl."

"I need to see a photo id, sir." A uniformed border officer told him when they pulled up to the window of the toll booth. Sylar pulled it out and handed it over. The man studied it, looking at the card and back up to Sylar, several times as if to check the authenticity of the driver's license.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Sylar asked, putting every bit of acting talent he possessed into appearing humble and gentle. It was occasions like this that made him thank whatever little bit of Gabriel still lingered in the back of his mind. "The license is a little old. I've lost some weight since then."

"No. No problem." The officer gave a small, satisfied nod. His life depended on that answer, he would get to live a little while longer in his pathetic mediocre life. All was going according to plan, Sylar just needed to continue the game for a little while longer. After returning the license, the officer asked. "Are you carrying any fruits or vegetables?"

Sylar glanced over at Peter's direction with a small grin. Telepathically, he asked, "_So, Peter, which one of those are you?_ " Peter only glared at him in response, making Sylar miss Claire all the more. She would have gotten the joke. To the border officer, he replied, "No, sir, I don't believe we are."

The officer nodded again. Following the customary set of questions, he moved on to the last and final one on his clipboard. "Do you have anything to declare?"

Sylar pondered over this for a moment. He always wanted to declare war on a foreign country. It was the first step to taking over the world after all. In his mind though, of all the places to start his rule, the Canadian countryside never quite came up as an option.

Elle interrupted his thoughts, screaming from the backseat. "Officer, these men are trying to kidna-"

Sylar clamped his telekinesis around her jaw, snapping her mouth shut before Elle said another word. She grunted through her teeth but couldn't budge them open. Sylar concentrated and pulled at the corners of her mouth until they twisted up into a grin, an unassuming facade of complacency. The officer looked in the back window at Elle but she was sitting there, perfectly calm as if she'd said nothing out of the ordinary.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" Sylar asked, eager to draw the man's attention away from the woman in the backseat.

"No. Uh.." The officer seemed a bit confused at the strangeness going on inside the car, but let it pass. When Sylar peeked into his thoughts, the officer was muttering something about '_strange Americans_'. He checked his clipboard one last time and waved them through. "That'll be all. Welcome to Canada. Please enjoy your stay."

"Wave to the nice man, Elle." Sylar made her wiggle her fingers in his direction before releasing her from his control. Her pouting only got worse from then on out.

* * *

The Company's International Headquarters was almost as large as any of the others, with probably as many connections and contacts. Sylar drove in easily under the gate after Elle told him the password to gain entrance. She was proving to be useful, when coerced into doing the right thing.

After getting out of the car, he handed Peter the key to Elle's handcuffs. He didn't wait for either of them to catch up before heading to the side door and preparing to blow it off its hinges. Peter messed up his concentration at the critical moment and the door barely moved at all.

"We need to do this in a way that won't alert anyone. The less guards the better chance of everyone walking out of this alive." Peter said as he wrangled Elle over towards the door. Sylar ground his teeth but let Peter take over. "Elle, what's the password for this door?"

She reluctantly punched in the code and they headed into the bowels of the company. There was one large room, surrounded by an atrium and then a bunch of hallways that led off from it. Guards and scientists could be heard walking around not very far from where they entered. Sylar knew it wouldn't take long before people noticed they were there.

"Which way?" Sylar grabbed the back of her neck unexpectedly, causing her to jump in pain and surprise.

"Claire's in room 126. Down there." Elle pointed down a hallway and then rubbed her neck when he let her go. "God, were you born this pushy or was it something you grew into? Nevermind. I already know. I read your file."

"Stay with her." Sylar told Peter. "Keep the exit clear while I go get Claire. I'll be back in a few minutes. If she tries anything, remember what we talked about and use her weakness against her. And if you have the urge, feel free to kill her."

..to be continued..


	25. Chapter 25

Sylar stalked off in the direction Elle pointed, following cold, gray corridors lined with bare pipes. His powers pulsated and danced in his hands. They were set on a hair trigger now, readying to discharge at a moment's notice. He was going to do some serious damage to this building and the people in it by the time this was all through. He was going to find Claire and then he would make every single one of Primatech's employees pay for daring to take his girl from him.

His thoughts screeched to a halt, derailed by two words that now replayed in his mind. Sylar didn't know when Claire become 'his girl'; he never thought of her in those terms before.. or maybe he did, he couldn't remember. It felt like she had always been there by his side, although he knew it was only a little over a week now.

He turned a corner and came face to face with a young man armed with a taser gun. It was a pitiful sight, the lightweight of the company pitted against Sylar's abilities. He wasted no time throwing him across the hallway, smiling at the satisfying sound of the boy's head hitting the wall with so much force that his skull cracked open. That was easy enough but Sylar was sure there would be more of them coming soon.

He picked up the pace, needing to find Claire before sirens alerted more of the company to his presence. He could face them one at a time but wanted to be gone before the whole calvary appeared. The numbers on the doors were descending and he knew it wouldn't be long before finding the one that read 'Subject 126: Claire Bennet'.

"Stop where you arrrck--" A guard rushed up from behind. He didn't even have time enough to finish announcing himself before Sylar closed his telekinesis around his throat, cutting off his windpipe and breaking his neck. His command cut off into a gurgling noise as all sound from his mouth was silenced forever.

Sylar glanced behind himself for a brief second, watching in annoyance as another one died and fell to the floor. He felt no remorse for the life he'd taken, the man simply chose the wrong side to stand on in this war. Besides, Sylar was sure the company would have done the same to him given half the chance. "I don't have time for Primatech's bullshit right now. Okay?"

His feet stopped in their tracks as he came across the right door. Claire's name was written across a label that hung on the door. A manila folder that was also labeled with her name sat in a file holder beside the door. If nothing else, the company was organized and meticulous about keeping records.

He picked it up and thumbed through it, wanting to know what she'd been through. If they hurt her in any way, each and every scientist working on her case would pay with excruciatingly long and painful deaths. He couldn't make that much out of the statistical records, so he put them back and turned the handle of the door.

It was locked good and tight. He wouldn't be able to get in without a keycard and a thumb print scan from someone with high enough access. Without either of those, Sylar went the tried and true route. He ripped the door off its hinges with a strength only a handful of other humans possessed.

The door flew off its hinges and fell over to the side. Stepping over the wreckage, he entered the small, claustrophobic room. Claire was huddled in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head tucked in tightly.

She was all he saw, with her tiny, fragile body pushed as far away from the door as she could get, holding off reality the best she could. Claire didn't seem to notice he'd arrived, so he stepped closer and joked. "Who do I have to kill around here to put that lovely smile back on your face?"

Claire didn't respond. Instead, she pulled herself tighter and whimpered. He took another step, starting to get a little scared. It was a fear that was unusual to him but one he'd learned to live with during their time together. A fear for another person's well-being, for Claire's safety.

"You're starting to worry me, Claire. Say something, anything. Recite the fucking phone book for all I care, just let me know that you're all right." He knelt beside her and felt her pull away. She still wouldn't look up. "Did they hurt you? I swear to god, I'll kill them all if they dare lay one finger on you."

She raised her eyes to his face but they were vacant, dead inside. She looked just like she had when he rescued her the first time, as if she'd never even started the healing process during the past few days. He cursed under his breath and tried to hold her, to make things better but she recoiled away.

"They showed me what you did." Her voice was faint, broken. His eyebrows knit together, not understanding. Claire stood abruptly and he followed her movements, standing beside her as she began pulling photos from the wall. "They showed me what you are. They said I shouldn't pretend that someone like you might save me."

In his need to make sure that Claire was okay, Sylar completely missed the way the company decorated the room. Only now did he notice the hundreds of photos posted on the walls, covering every spare inch with graphic police photos and some photos that could have only been taken by the company themselves. People lay torn in pieces, mutilated with their heads sawed in half, brains dripping out, blood spilling from the open cavity that used to be their skull.

He stood there transfixed in breathless awe and took in the sight of his handiwork. There were photos there that made even his stomach roll over, things he never wanted Claire to see. Corpses displayed with their insides hanging out, pieces strewn across the rooms in the photos haphazardly. He didn't look at her, he couldn't. All Sylar could see was his past and how futile a search for a future with her would be. "This is why I was handing you off to Peter. I don't want this for you."

"But Peter doesn't want me, does he?"

Sylar could hear the tears in her voice, but he still couldn't turn around. Some say hell is being confronted with the deeds of your past, played out over a big screen where people have to sit and watch it all play out again, unable to do anything to stop what's already been done. Sylar figured this room, with its confined quarters and hundreds of grisly photos came a close second. Especially with Claire crying beside him while he was unable to comfort her.

This was all done for Claire's benefit he was sure. Two photos lay on the floor already, ripped and torn into shreds, as if she didn't want to believe at first. She was struggling with his past even more than Sylar was now. Her hands thrashed at the pictures, snatching them from where they lay taped to the wall and threw them down on the ground. "How many? How many people did you kill?

"I've lost count." It was the truth. He remembered each and every one of his special victims, their powers flowed through his veins even now. He took those with him wherever he went. Though the others, the ones he killed simply because they were in the way of getting to the people with advanced abilities, some of them he couldn't even remember killing but the company kept careful tabs. They were meticulous.

"You lost count," She laughed, harsh and cold against the silence. "You destroyed people's lives and you just, what.. lost count? I heard stories, bits and pieces.. I even saw you kill Jackie." Claire came into Sylar's view, resting her hand on a photo of a woman with her eyes' pulled out of their sockets and bleeding from several nails stuck through her head. She looked still alive, barely. "But I guess that was before you learned of more interesting torture methods."

He didn't know what to say, but he tried. He tried for her sake. "Claire, I--"

Claire ignored him and pulled a random photo from the wall, shoving it in Sylar's face. "What was her name?!"

He knew she would only grow angrier if he couldn't produce answers, so Sylar searched the photo but couldn't recall her name. He wracked his brain, dredging up any piece of information he could put with that face. A name, a place or a power.

Even with all his photographic memory, there were some things he hadn't felt the need to remember because they were so insignificant at the time. Then there were others his brain forced him to repress. He couldn't be sure which category the girl in the photograph was in. By the looks of the devastated crime scene, he assumed it was the later.

Giving her as much information as he knew, Sylar whispered. "Her name was Sarah."

"Sarah." Claire studied the picture in her hands, her anger dissipating slightly. Her fingers traced the lines of the woman's face, her red hair that matted to her blood drenched forehead. Claire's ire came back once more as her finger touched the part of the photo where a deep neck wound, where the girl was nearly decapitated and her spinal column could be seen. "Do you know if _Sarah_ had any family? Or if _Sarah's_ friends miss her? Do you know if _Sarah_ had ever been in love or gone backpacking through Europe or skinny dipped in the moonlight?"

"No."

"So, basically you don't know a thing about her or what you've destroyed here." Claire ripped up the photo, tossing the pieces to the floor like confetti. Another broken girl with her hopes dashed away. She brushed her hands briskly together, as if wiping dirt away. "She was just another girl, in your way."

Sylar hung his head, unable to say anything to answer for anything he'd done. He couldn't go back in time and change the past, as much as he wanted to right now.

"Did you fuck her too?" Claire asked of the torn up photo. Sylar shot his head up at the harshness in her voice, the slight reference to what they did the night before. "Or was I the only lucky one you were going to fuck and then kill? Or, well, hand me over to the company, which is pretty much the same thing, isn't it?"

He shook his head, vehemently opposed to that idea."Claire, I was never going to--"

"Shut up!" She violently brushed streaming tears away from her cheeks. He closed his mouth and sighed as she went through the room, studying each photo intently. She finally stopped on one of an older woman in a small apartment. Its labeled read 'Virginia Gray'. "They say you even killed your mother. She sort of looks like you. Did you love her? All little children are supposed to love their mothers, aren't they?"

All his life, Sylar searched for an answer to that very same question. Even when he was just Gabriel Gray, simple watchmaker living in a small Queens apartment and living a simple life. Especially during those days, actually. His devote Christian mother warned him that it was a sin to dishonor your parents. You were supposed to hold them in high regard, listen to their wisdom and become exactly what they wanted you to be. Still, Claire wanted the truth and she would get it.

"No, Claire, I hated her." He closed his eyes. Those words hurt even though he knew them to be true. "I've never cared about anyone until you. There was no one until you."

"Liar!" She spat back, bringing her fists in the air to strike at him. Sylar held her arms, struggling to calm her down. Claire screamed when he grabbed his hands around her wrists, fighting with every last strength left in her. "Prescott told me about your little deal. You told them where I was to save your own ass. And then you slept with me for one last fucking hoorah before running away! What? Are you here to gloat now?"

"You're working with only half the story, Claire." Sylar told her, still holding her in place as he stared her down. "I told Prescott I would give you up. That's true. He had a needle to my neck filled with a poison that would have killed me in seconds. What the hell else was I supposed to do? I only told him what he wanted to hear so I could buy myself some time. Maybe I even thought I would have the guts to give you back to the company at that time but not after last night."

"Why? What was so special about last night?" She asked sarcastically, giving absolutely no weight to what they did together or what happened between them. Her face scrunched up as she spit out the words like the event they were alluding to was meaningless.

"Claire, I never slept with anyone I actually cared about until last night. It was.. intense." Sylar paused, wishing he could have told her that before she fell asleep in his arms, before everything had gotten so completely screwed up. She drooped a little in his arms, the fight leaving her as confusion set in. His words left his mouth before he could stop himself. "I never wanted to feel that vulnerable with anyone because that's when they hurt you.. that's when they tell you that you're not good enough for them. But then I did.. with you.. and things were different."

Claire lowered her arms and shook her head, starring at the floor where torn pictures were scattered about their feet. "But Elle said that you said I wasn't any good in bed."

"Elle's a lying sack of shit." Sylar was really beginning to hate that electric bitch. From thoughts of Elle, sprung thoughts of the rest of the company. They didn't have much time here. Claire could go back to smacking him after they left the building. She could curse and scream and kick him around as much as she liked. First though, he needed to get her to safety. "I know you don't trust me, but we need to get you out of here and.."

"And you're all I've got." She finished for him.

Ever since they started out on the road together, he had been nothing more than her last resort. It was good enough for him. If he got to be anything to her after everything he did to the world, it was more than he truly deserved. That fact was drummed into his head now, after being in this room and having the past brought back up in such a vivid display of cruelty. With this many disasters all executed at his hands, Claire should hate him forever. It was only fair.

"Peter's here too. I talked him into letting you stay at his house." Sylar finally replied. Distant sirens began to fill the air. He knew they were coming, given enough time. Claire jumped at the sound and grabbed his hand, linking her fingers with his. Then as she became accustomed to the noise, she backed away again, careful to put some distance between them. "You'll be happy with him, with your family. And I'll leave you alone. You'll never have to see me again."

Claire paused, looking back over the room only last time. She hugged herself tightly as she asked. "Do you think you've really changed, Sylar? You told me in Texas that things were different.. that you were different. Was that the truth?"

Sylar shoved the cell door back in place telekinetically, so neither of them would ever have to see the insides of that room again. It would always be there though, even if the room was just in the back of his mind, a place in his brain to hide all the emotions he repressed and memories he never wanted to think about again. "I don't know."

..to be continued..


	26. Chapter 26

Once they were out in the hallway, the overhead lights started flickering and the sirens only got louder. Sylar figured it was only a reaction to the company's prisoner escaping, until the lights went out completely and loud explosions were heard far in the other section of the building. Whatever Peter and Elle were doing down there, it was surely making a lot of noise.

Seeing in the dark proved to be an impossible task. Sylar felt along the side of the wall, straining to see while making sure not to fall and trip on his face. At the same time, he kept one hand on Claire's shoulder, making sure she didn't get lost behind him. They needed to stay together if they were going to get out of there alive.

At first, Claire bristled against his touched and started to move away but when another explosion was sounded, she clutched at his arm tightly. He could hear her fear, rapidly beating in her heart and wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. He didn't know what to say, not after their argument but couldn't resist trying to reassure her. "No one is going to hurt you, Claire. Not anymore."

"How can you be so sure?" She held no hope for him anymore; there was no sign that she ever saw him as a hero. In a matter of hours, the company had destroyed everything that once filled their relationship, all the laughter and her smiles and her hope. And he was left cleaning up the debris.

He was about to say something, tell her she didn't have to worry as long as he was with her but a small light glimmering in the distance caught both their attentions. Sylar squinted, finally able to make out a dark shape coming closer. It blended in with the shadows, except for the flickering energy in its hand.

Sylar prayed it might be Peter, there to show them the way out and not someone that wished him and Claire harm. This woman that carried the flame was much taller than Elle though, with hair of red that shone in the bright fire that danced on her palm.

Before the woman could attack, Sylar pushed Claire behind him and readied his cryokinetic aim. That was the best way to attack a firestarter. They hated the cold. "You really don't want to play with me, Sparky."

The woman neared anyway, giving off her first warning shot before saying a word. A ball of fire came hurtling down the hallway at their heads. It lit up the hallway, showing the fear etched on Claire's face as she screamed. He didn't notice she was screaming his name until the flame ball zoomed past his head, only inches away from toasting him to a crisp.

Sylar jumped out of the way, pulling Claire to the wall with him. She slammed into the wall as he covered her and protected her with his body. "Are you okay?"

"I was.. actually more worried about-" Claire bit her lip in embarrassment, then met his eyes. The fireball narrowly continued traveling down the hallway, getting lost in the dimness of the long pathway and the light was gone again. "Nothing. Forget it. I'm still angry, you know."

"Of course you are." Sylar only wished Claire could see how he was rolling his eyes. Let her be angry, he'd tried to do everything for her this week. He wouldn't be in this predicament almost getting his ass torched if it wasn't for her neediness. He pushed himself away from the wall with a grunt. "Why shouldn't you be angry, right? I mean.. it's not like I got you out of the company's hell hole twice."

Sylar dodged another attack. The woman was getting angrier, all her best moves were being evaded.

"Not like I did everything in my power to keep you safe this week." He continued with the edge of sarcasm and shoved froze the wall behind the woman in a defensive maneuver. She rounded back, her advances more aggressive and frantic now. Sylar pulled Claire down the hall with him, getting out of range of the company's pet evolved human. "It's not like I would do anything for you.. even walk back into the company willingly just to keep you from being hurt. No. I'm still the same old Sylar, so bring on the blame game, Claire. I've heard it all before anyway."

The ducked down a turn in the hallway and Claire shot back. "Don't you dare get angry with me. This isn't my fault. I'm not the one who killed all those people, Sylar."

"Yeah. Well, neither am I.. not really. I'm not that person anymore." Sylar pounded his foot against the floor. "This is very hard to explain to someone so goddamn pure and innocent, you know. God, I just wish I could make you understand but you never will Claire."

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"Because I lov-" Sylar stopped himself, finally looking to see where they were standing. They'd entered a section of the dizzying map of hallways blocked by a dozen guards with guns and tasers. "Er.. crap, hold that thought."

The woman with the flaming red hair came back up behind them, closing off their exit. They were trapped. He didn't mind. It only made the game more interesting.

Sylar twirled a finger and the firestarter fell to the ground, the flame she was making disintegrating into nothingness. The woman only grinned, a twisted smile that was illuminated by another fireball as energy gathered in her hand again. The woman rose back to her feet, aiming at his head. He heard some of the men behind them cocking their weapons.

"Prescott said you can kill the both of them if you can't capture them alive." The leader of the squadron spoke to his subordinates. "Try not to fill them with too many bullets though; the company still wants their bodies for dissection purposes."

Claire backed herself against the wall in fear, edging herself a little ways out of the combat zone. He looked over to her and she nodded. She would be okay. That was all Sylar was waiting for and a second later he attacked. The game was on.

He froze the fire from the woman's hands first, watching as it turned to ice and shattered to the ground. A hail of bullets started next but he dodged well enough until a stray one hit the firestarter and all light in the hallway was extinguished for good.

Sylar froze anything that moved next, searching the hallway with his sensitive ears while trying to ignore the pain the loud gunfire caused. He paused a moment to listen for the sound of Claire's heartbeat. She was still there. He sighed in relief.

Satisfaction crossed his face as he heard people running and yelling in pain, until there was no more screaming and only silence filled the halls. They were alone and for all they knew, they were the only living beings in the world at the moment. Sylar waited until he felt Claire by his side, standing there in the darkness with him.

"What happened?" Claire asked as she placed a hand on his forearm.

Sylar wasn't sure. They'd won obviously.. but whether his enemies turned tail and ran away or were dead at their feet he couldn't be positive. He was hoping for both at the same time. He would have loved to have massacred them all but didn't want Claire to witness any more murders he'd committed.

One lone guard a few feet away flicked on a flashlight. He stood trembling amongst the frozen bodies of his friends, all of them dead by Sylar's own hands. That solved that question. The guard roared in anguish and then fired his gun off so quickly Sylar didn't see him do so until the bullet shot out of his company-issued gun.

"Sylar!" Claire screamed and pushed Sylar out of the way, putting her body between him and the bullet. She acted as a human shield, taking a direct hit to her chest and fell to the floor in pain. Her head hit the hard floor and she clutched at wound as new blood poured out of it.

It didn't matter if she could heal from it, there was so much blood.. it was all Sylar could see and all logical thought flew out of his mind. She was in pain and it was all the fault of that other man. He hurt her and he needed to pay with his life. He turned, narrowed his eyes and made the man shoot out his own brains in punishment. It was over quick.

The man's flashlight bounced to the floor, giving off very little light through the hallway. It was just enough for Sylar to kneel down beside Claire and watch as her body pushed out the bullet. It was amazing, an act of evolutionary wonderment.

He continued watch as the metal shell resurfaced and popped out the hole. Her power was strong, something he once wished to have. It was good where it was though, it was saving her life.

Sylar stayed by her side until it was all over. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

Claire winced as she got back to her feet. He placed a steadying hand on her arm, helping her up but she just shooed him away. The girl he left back at the bed and breakfast was coming back, complete with sarcastic repartee. "Of course it hurts! I just took a bullet for you. What do you expect?"

"You didn't have to do that. You could have let me--"

"What, die? After what you've done to the world, I should have." She cut him off, walking through the hallway to retrieved the flashlight from where it fell on the ground. She looked like an angel, bathed in white light and here they were in the depths of hell on earth. "But for some reason, I don't think I could have lived with myself if I didn't at least try to save you. Maybe I'm just a little fucked in the head that way." 

Sylar took a step towards her, though dozens of corpses that were frozen in painful expressions. His head bent to stare at them all. This was his handiwork; they were all dead because of him. He had to admit it was there in the back of his mind when the battle erupted, the thrill of the kill and the familiar amusement at hurting so many so easily. He placed a hand on the back of his neck and let out a deep sigh. "I really haven't changed, have I?"

He sounded far away, an observer to his own life.

Claire let her shoulders sag and came to a hard realization. "It's a war, Sylar. People get hurt in wars. It's just the way it goes." She paused before adding. "I can forgive you this once. After all.. you did just save my life."

He blinked against the light as she shone it his way. He couldn't help but pick up on the things she left unsaid. "But you still don't trust me."

"No. Maybe. I-- I don't know."

"You sound very confused." Sylar noted with a grin, as she closed in the distance between them. He hoped for a change of heart, the faintest glimmer in her eyes that maybe given enough time things could go back to the way they were. He wanted to hold her like he did the night before but too much trust had been lost between them and they both knew it.

"I don't know what I feel anymore, nothing makes sense." She leaned in till he could feel her breath, warm against his skin but Claire pulled away again abruptly. Another explosion rocked the building, shaking the both of them out of the intimate world where only the two of them existed. There were bigger things to take care of right now. "We should go."

He sighed. "Right. Let's go see how much trouble that uncle of yours has got himself into this time. I promise not to laugh if Elle is electrifying his ass when we find him."

..to be continued..


	27. Chapter 27

"Admit it," Claire shone the flashlight down the hallway and then back up to Sylar's face. No one was following them anymore and the company now seemed devoid of all life. Maybe the fight that broke out scared the rest of them off. Unfortunately, the fight also left them lost after running from hallway to hallway, corridor to corridor. She was certain they were now walking in circles. "You don't know where we are. We're lost."

"I know where we are, Claire." Sylar pushed the flashlight back down, out of his eyes. He appeared to be listening for any clue that might help him find the exit out of this maze. She was pretty certain that he was lying and when he spoke again her worries were confirmed. "We made a right, then two lefts-- or maybe it was three lefts, it was pretty dark.. I'm not sure where we were running exactly."

"We could always ask for directions.. you know, if everyone we met _wasn't_ trying to kill us." Claire felt a smile tugging at her lips, despite herself and they'd just lived through only a little while earlier. Both the fight and finding out about Sylar's past should have put her in a foul mood, yet being by his side reluctantly made her happy. It also left her very confused.

"They don't _all _want to kill us." Sylar joked as he ushered her closer to the map on the wall. "Some just want to capture us and perform all sort of inhuman tests on us. They have a good variety of crazy here."

She bit her lip, daring to return to a previous conversation while holding the flashlight on the map as steadily as she could. "Sylar? What were you going to say before? You know, when we were trapped between that flame thrower and those guards?"

"I-- um.. this way." Sylar grabbed her arm, turned around and started back the way they came. He was evading the question, which wasn't like him. He wasn't one to get flustered so easily.

She followed, not sure they were going in the right direction but figured she might as well humor him. Especially since she didn't know the way out either. "But really, you can tell me.. can't you? I mean what could you be keeping from me that's so horrible?"

"Look, Claire. I.." He stopped and faced her, which was exactly when he started to grow nervous and lose the power of speech again. Running a hand over her shoulders, he searched for words to express whatever the hell he couldn't bring himself to repeat.

Whatever it was that he was keeping from her, she wished he would just say it already. Maybe that would kill the anticipation that caused her stomach to flip flop inside of her. A pained scream cut through the pregnant pause and Sylar sighed in relief as Claire's attention was brought back to more serious matters.

Claire shot her head up, instantly recognizing the voice. "Peter!"

"Oh, thank god." Sylar muttered, more happy for the interruption than for locating the other man. He grabbed Claire's hand and took off running. Their feet pounded the floor, rushing towards Claire's uncle and whatever danger he'd gotten himself into.

They weren't that far away, after a few quick turns they came to a large, open room surrounded by a second story balcony that ran along the inside of the room. In the center of the room, Peter was scrambling to his feet after what looked like the aftermath of a fight between him and Elle. He was burnt to a crisp but was healing, slowly though since he was still not used to calling on the power he absorbed from Claire.

Claire forgot all about their fight and the fact that Peter didn't want her anywhere near her, she just ran to him and helped him to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Claire, you shouldn't be here." Peter groaned as she wrapped one of his arms around her neck, holding his shaking body up. He was badly wounded from the fight, barely able to stand up without her help and she refused to listen to his pleas for her to leave. He was her family; there was no way she was going to abandon him there to fend for himself. Even if he would have done that to her only a day ago.

"Claire?" Sylar called out tentatively. She ignored him, but he continued urgently. "Claire!"

"What?!" She stopped and looked up, annoyed by his insistence that she break her focus from her uncle. All of her actions slowed, her breathing became shallow and her vision filled with the whole army of company men that filled the room.

They were everywhere, on both levels of the room and were determined not to let them walk out of there alive. She couldn't count how many guns were trained on her at that moment, a couple hundred, a thousand. Maybe more.

"Didn't we have a plan, Peter?" Sylar asked, as he bunched closer to Claire and her uncle as one of the guards poked him in the stomach with their gun. "You were going to wait by the exit and I was going to go get Claire. What happened to the plan? It was a good plan. I liked that plan. It would have kept us from being filled with bullet holes. And now here we are planless."

"Elle tricked me." Peter strained to breath, still healing far too slow to be much of a help in this battle.

"Well, that's just great." Sylar spoke bitterly as his anger threatened to overwhelm him. A flank of guards on the right cocked their weapons; they were a few seconds from becoming swiss cheese. "So, what did she do, offer to sleep with you?"

"What? No." Peter looked at the floor guiltily and sagged against Claire's shoulders. "Maybe."

"I hope it was a good lay because it was apparently your last." Sylar would have pounded Peter into the pavement right then and there, if it wasn't for the cocked guns that were aimed at his head. He raised his hands slowly in surrender. "Thank you so very much for dragging me and Claire into your stupidity."

"Would the two of you stop fighting?" Claire felt like she was on the verge of tears. She didn't want to die, not like this and not so young. "I'm not going to my death listening to the two people I care about most in the world arguing at each other's throats!"

Sylar shot a curious look at her, then nodded. He would appease her for now, after all they didn't have much time left. He took a few steps backwards, closing in the distance while the company circled in on them tighter. He turned his head towards Peter and whispered, "How many can you take?"

He did the math, sizing up their opponents against the weakness he felt. "300.. maybe 4' before I collapse."

"Which only leaves.." Sylar did a quick estimation and his head dropped in dismay. They were powerful and possessed extraordinary abilities, but they were clearly outnumbered. No matter how many they killed, the company would always send more. "600 for me."

"Does this mean we're screwed?" Claire raised her eyebrows, not wanting to know the answer. She watched as an older gentleman and Elle appeared on the balcony, watching them with amusement from the second story. Oh yes, they were most certainly screwed.

"Don't worry, Claire. I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve." Sylar hands began to glow with a warm but threatening energy. The first line of gunmen moved back, alarmed by the power as it began to rumble in his hands. All they possessed to fight against the radioactive energy were a bunch of handguns. The odds were changing and they were not in the company's favor anymore.

Claire could recall only one other time when she'd witnessed this ability in action, one night, many years ago in Kirby Plaza. It still scared her even now. She could remember watching Peter and her father, exploding in to dust in the sky. The only thing that saved Peter that night was his fast healing, something Sylar didn't have in his arsenal.

Her green eyes went wide. She didn't like where this was headed but Sylar seemed content, if a little detached from the moment. "What are you doing, Sylar?"

"Something heroic." He answered, a bit unsure of his plan but still determined to do some massive destruction. She realized then that he knew he was going to die, and he didn't care. He spoke absently as he starred up at Elle and the older man. No one in the company would survive. "I'm going to take this whole building down. Don't worry, you'll heal."

"And what about you?!"

He ignored her, probably because he knew she was the only one who could talk him down from this ledge. Instead, he turned to her uncle and discussed the idea, leaving no room for her to make a rebuttal. "Peter, when I tell you, I need you to take Claire and run as fast as you can outside. Can you do that? Can you just stick to this one plan? Because if you don't get her out of her, so help me I'll come back and haunt your ass."

Peter nodded, sharing the solemn oath.

Claire couldn't believe the two of them, standing there and talking so calmly about a future where he wouldn't exist anymore. This couldn't be happening, but the fear that tightened around her heart was so palpable it had to be real. She moved to Sylar's side, clutching his arms and wanting so badly to drag him out of this building. The company wouldn't let her though, they'd shoot the both of them dead before they could escape.

She touched Sylar's face, softly bending his face down so she could meet his eyes. He couldn't just ignore her when she was starring up at him, bringing him back to the present moment and the reality of what he was going to do. "I can't let you sacrifice yourself, Sylar. Please, I can't lose you.. not after everything. There has to be another way."

Claire's sudden movement caused Elle to shout the orders at the company's army. "Shoot them. Shoot them all! Shoot everything that moves!!"

A thousand bullets fired in their direction but Sylar and Peter held them off. Their telekinesis stopped as many bullets as they could and the trio dodged the few stray ones that got past the forcefield. Their shield wouldn't last for long and after this moment was over, Claire and Sylar's time would be through.

He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close to him and the past was instantly forgotten. He wasn't a serial killer, she wasn't a cheerleader. He was just a boy in love with a girl, trying to hold the whole world back. "There isn't any other way, Claire. I need to do this. Besides, this way I can drag the company down to hell with me."

"But what am I going to do without you? I need you in my life, Sylar. I want you."

"You're better off without me. You and I both know that." Sylar brushed away the tears on Claire's cheek. They were running out of time and he wasn't going to change his mind. This was the work he needed to do and Claire was at a lose for how to get him to listen. She couldn't help crying over her defeat and the whole in her heart where she already missed him. "God, Claire. Please don't make this any harder for me."

"But I lov--"

"Don't." He placed a finger on her lips, quieting her before she could tell him what they both already knew. He grabbed her shoulders and shook his head, "Don't say that, because you don't and you can't. I don't deserve that. I need you to go and get out of here. Don't ever look back. Please."

There was a time when Claire thought the word might implode in on itself if Sylar said the word 'please'. It sounded so strange coming from his lips and she was inclined to ignore it. "I love you, Sylar. Do you hear me. If you want to destroy yourself, you'd better understand what you're walking away from."

"You're not going to save me by getting angry." Sylar grinned, already knowing all the tactics she would use on him. After this week, they knew each others moves and could easily predict what the other would do. "I know full well what I'm walking away from.. and what I'm saving. You're everything I've ever cared about Claire. I didn't know I could feel this way about anyone.. I was so broken.. and you--" He watched Elle give another order to the army. "You need to get out of here. Now."

Claire wrapped her arms around him, reaching up to kiss his lips and try to remember every single thing about him so she would could always keep him with her. His arms were so warm, so comforting and she held him tighter, willing herself to never let him go.

Then he pushed her away from him, into Peter's awaiting arms and the heat from his explosion started to grow. She grasped for him, reaching out with her arms and crying at Peter pulled her farther and farther away from the man she loved. Sylar turned away from her, unable to watch as she left. "Peter. Take her! go!"

"No.. no, let me go. I'm staying here.. I'm want to stay with him!" She fought Peter's hold on her, clawing at his hands as her uncle held her around the waist. She wanted to stay here in this room, as the only thing she loved went up in a fiery explosion. Peter made her run though, forced her through the throng of company men as he made a pathway through them with his telekinesis. She saw him going up in flames, just like Ted.. just like Peter.. like a hero. She wasn't sure he could hear her, but she screamed out the truth anyway. "I love you, Sylar."

In the heat of the guns going off, nuclear explosions and Sylar leaving her behind, Claire was overwhelmed. She needed to keep running but she tripped over something and felt herself falling. Two arms lifted her up, carrying her outside into the cold, winter afternoon and a world without the man she loved. She already hated it there.

* * *

Claire found herself lying in the snow, rocked by after shocks as the company building collapsed in on itself. Little earthquakes willed her to consciousness as she turned to see Peter beside her. She lifted herself on her hands as she watched it crumble down and the heatwave pass over the land. She should be thankful that this part of the country was deserted and no civilians were hurt and she was alive.. but she wasn't. 

"Sylar?"

Peter placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's gone. He died saving you."

Claire covered her face with her hands, feeling all the exhaustion of the past week, all the fighting and the traveling coupled with the confusion of falling in love and then watching the person she loved sacrifice himself for her.

Her uncle brought her into a tight embrace, holding her as sobs wracked through her body. Everything was over, everything was gone and the world was suddenly so empty. When her crying subsided and she was quiet again, Peter offered, "Let's go home."

"Home? Where is home?"

"My house. For now. I mean, if you want.. I have a room for you." Peter suggested.

After thinking about it, Claire nodded silently. It was as good a place as any, after all, what did it matter where she lived anymore these days. It would still be as far away from Sylar as any other place. He was gone and she would just have to learn to live in a world without him in it.

Peter helped her to her feet and they started down the road together.

..to be continued..


	28. Chapter 28

There were no words to explain the ache in her heart or the emptiness she felt, so Claire stayed silent through the whole walk to town and the bus ride back to Maine. She slept on Peter's shoulder, letting the roar of the bus motor lull her into a false security as she escaped into her dreams, like she always used to when life in the company grew too painful.

While she slept, Claire dreamt of the explosion again, bright flames consuming everything in their path, people dying all around her and her desire to see the company burn. She'd never been so vengeful in her life but she hoped that every single member of the company died when Sylar sacrificed himself. It would mean something then, it would be the final payback to the bastards that were so content on destroying their lives.

"Hey." Peter shook her gently and she yawned to life. "We're here. A few blocks from my cabin."

She replied with a small nod as the breaks on the bus screeched at their stop, saying nothing else. Peter gave her a worried glance, similar to the one Sylar used to give her the first few days after escaping the company the first time. She'd returned to withdrawing inward when things hurt so much; the rest of the world returned to hoping she would say something to show she was okay.

She followed her uncle, the bright afternoon sun shining as they made their way from the bus stop to his cabin. It was only her second time in the neighborhood but she didn't even give it one look to see what kind of place she would be living in now. Claire kept her head down, starring at her feet as her mind replayed Sylar's death, over and over again, in such vivid detail. She could barely focus on anything else.

Why did everything have to be so confusing all the time? She only finally realized what Sylar meant to her before it was their time to say goodbye.

When Peter halted in front of the cabin, she peeked her head up and couldn't help thinking about the first time she'd been there, the only time. Sylar was so insistent that Peter listen to her, that he stop being such a jerk and let her back into his life. They'd succeeded at that goal, but at what cost. She'd never felt more alone than she did right then.

"Welcome home." Peter reached for the extra key underneath a fake rock. "We can go shopping for some clothes and things for you tomorrow, if you'd like.. I know you don't have much."

She stopped at the threshold of the cabin and then paused to look back at Peter's car, the little blue cavalier in the driveway. She grew frantic and stepped down, away from the cabin and stopped halfway to the car. "We have to go back to the bed and breakfast. I have to get the rest of my things. Peter will you drive me there, now?"

"What? I bet that place is a crime scene by now, police crawling all over it. Whatever's there that's so important we can just replace." Peter replied as he shoved the key into the door lock. "Nathan set up a fund for you--"

Claire held her jaw tight, willing herself not to break down in front of her uncle. He didn't understand, he couldn't. He hadn't lost anyone he cared about today. "Sylar's things are back in the room. I need to get them, Peter. I can't just forget about them. I can't just leave them there. I--"

"Okay." He said softly as she began to lose control. He ran a hand over her hair and for the first time in years, Claire felt like she had some sort of family to steady her while the world continued to throw curve balls at her. Sylar was gone but at least he made sure she would be protected in his absence. "It's okay. I'll get my keys and we'll drive over there."

Peter did as promised and they pulled into the parking lot of the bed and breakfast after a short drive. They didn't have a key, so he got them into the room with the help of his telekinesis. Thankfully, the door was still the simple mechanical key lock type, which was much easier to manipulate with his powers than digital locks.

No one was there; the room was exactly as they left it, water stain on the carpet and all. Claire moved through the room silently, taking in the sight of so much destruction. She touched her fingertips to the bed, connecting to it through tangible, physical touch. At least one thing from her night with Sylar remained, if nothing else did anymore. She bit her lip to keep her emotions from spilling out and causing a mess in the already destroyed room.

"We can't stay long." Peter reminded her quietly as he leaned against the door, silently observing Claire as she attempted to make some peace with what had happened. He was right, sooner or later someone from the front desk or housekeeping would want to know what they were doing there. It was a wonder they hadn't already cleaned out the room.

She gathered a few clothes that littered the floor; they all carried Sylar's smell on them and she could almost imagine he was there if she closed her eyes long enough. She took in a shuddering breath but before Peter could wrap her into a comforting hug, she pushed him off and said. "I'll be okay. I will."

It was a bold faced lie but she swore by it.

She gathered their clothes, threw them in Sylar's duffel bag and walked back out to the car. Peter followed behind her, at a loss for words but she could tell he cared and wanted to help. He wanted to make things right by his niece, even though he had no idea where to start fixing this problem. She was thankful but life still would never be the same.

* * *

By the time they arrived back at Peter's cabin the second time, Claire was exhausted and all she wanted to do was sleep for a hundred years. Maybe by the time she woke up things would be better. Maybe she wouldn't even wake up at all, which in her mind was just as well. 

He led her up the stairs to the second floor and into a guest bedroom. He explained back in the car that she would be welcome at his place for as long as she wanted to stay. She dropped the duffel bag on hard wood floor and told herself that this was home now. This was her room, with the view overlooking the lake and the wrought iron bed, antique dresser and cherry wood vanity. She could be happy here.

"Like I said before," Peter started, a bit embarrassed and unsure of himself. They were family and yet they were so very estranged from each other; it felt strange to even be in the same room as him. In time, she hoped that would change. "Nathan set up a fund for you back when he knew the company would come after him, so if you need anything at all, the money's in the bank waiting for you. It'll help you get back on your feet again."

She starred out the window, not able to look at her uncle after all the trouble she'd caused him and his family. "I never meant-- I never meant for him to die because of me, Peter. I never wanted that to happen." It was so hard to talk about the past, especially now that Peter let her back into his life. Claire needed Peter to know this though, to really understand her point of view. "I-- I loved my father and I'm just so tired of everyone dying because of me. I just hurts so much and I don't know how to make it stop."

Peter crossed the room, gathering her up in his arms and she held onto him for dear life. He was her only anchor in this crazy, mixed up world which made absolutely no sense to her anymore. She almost missed the confines of the company that she'd left only a week ago. Back then life was filled with more physical pain than emotional and she was free to bottle up her emotions. She didn't have to deal with this heartache back when she was so dead inside.

"Oh, Claire." He finally spoke, breaking through her self-inflicted guilt. "I am so sorry for what I said. It was wrong of me. You had nothing to do with your father's death. It was the company's fault, not yours. God, I never should have.. Nathan only wanted you to be safe. He loved you so much."

She nuzzled herself deeper into his chest, needing to feel his warmth as she let his words sink into her heart. She couldn't help asking for more reassurance. "Are you sure?"

"Are you kidding? He was crazy about you. He kept talking about how he hoped you would go to college in New York so he could see you more often than he did. He would have given up anything for you.. and when he made the final choice not to turn you into the company, when he fought them to keep you safe for just a little bit longer, I should have realized that he was doing it out of love but after I lost my brother.. things just stopped making sense to me for a long time."

"Do _you_ love me, Peter?" After what she put him through, Claire didn't know if he could anymore. She was half afraid he'd only been talked into letting her stay through some act of violence on Sylar's part. He didn't really want her around, he wanted a quiet life with a normal family and a whole lot less of her craziness. She was sure of it.

"More than I could understand when I kicked you out of my life yesterday." He paused, stopping to take a look at her to make sure she was really there in his arms. "It may be the first time in my life that I'm glad Sylar kicked my ass. Someone needed to beat some sense into this old head of mine."

"So he did kick your butt, didn't he?" She grinned slightly and when Peter wouldn't answer her question she knew what Sylar had done for her. She laughed, despite everything she'd been through in the past twenty-four hours. Sylar had always excelled at solving his problem through the sledgehammer approach.

"Hey, I almost kick his ass right back. If he hadn't been so determined, I would have totally won." Peter laughed along with her, attempting to hold onto his dignity as was flushed away. He ran his thumb along her chin and then added. "Why don't you get some sleep? You must be tired. I have some calls to make but I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

She nodded, overwhelmed by the need for rest. After Peter left and shut off the light, she grabbed one of Sylar's shirts from the duffel bag and changed into it. It was large enough to act as a nightgown for her and it kept him close to her, allowing her to snuggle up with him even after he was gone.

Claire climbed into bed and slept from late afternoon all the way through the night and into the early morning. When she fell into dreams that night, they were more peaceful ones but Sylar was still in them. He played the part of her hero, fighting off imaginary demons and keeping the nightmares at bay. That's how she would always see him now, despite their past issues and the deaths committed at his hands. In her dreams, it didn't matter what happened in the past. He was still alive, he wasn't exploding and no one was dying, there was no death or pain, it was like it should have been. A boy in love with a girl with their whole lives ahead of them.

* * *

By the time Claire woke up after the first night spent at Peter's cabin, he'd managed to sign her up with a therapist, a good one-- one that believed her stories about companies kidnapping her, superpowers and brain-stealing enemies who turned out to be not so bad after all. 

When Peter told her about her first appointment, Claire almost rebelled.. until she realized that it might be good to talk to someone. She'd been through so much over the past couple of years, she sometimes thought she would be swallowed up in the crap that had already consumed so much of her life.

On the car ride over to the doctor's office, that first Monday session, Claire asked. "How did you find a doctor who knows about our abilities anyway?"

"Mohinder." Peter replied. "Dr. Valsamis is one of his colleagues. They went to school together but they were in separate programs. He said she's a good therapist and knows a bit about Mohinder's work with evolved human genetics, so you won't have to hide anything from her."

"Mohinder?" She watched him put on his blinker and make a turn down the town's main road. When they came to a red light, she asked, "I thought you decided that you didn't want to speak to anyone from your old life."

He stopped to take a look at her and she could tell he was seeing her own strength. He seemed proud of her and unsure of himself. "We all have our demons to face down, Claire. Having you back in my life is reminding me of all the things I left behind, all the friends. I was stupid to run away from my problems." He returned his attention to the road ahead. "My brother never would have left like that."

She placed a hand on his shoulder, finally accepting the fact that while Peter didn't have all the answers, he did have a desire to find them. That was enough for her to place her trust in him. "You weren't there for his lumberjack beard growing phase, Peter. Trust me, my father had his share of issues too and you're on par with him, as far as I'm concerned."

"I just want us to be okay again."

"We will be."

* * *

The cold northern winter melted into spring, which gave way to a warm, dry summer. There was new life all around her, springing forth to give her hope even while she still grieved for all the things she lost. She spent much of her time silently walking along the shore, searching for some meaning to pull her through the pain. 

On a whole, Claire was doing much better than she was before. She could swear the therapist possessed the power to heal others. Dr. Valsamis denied this and reminded her that all the progress they made was a result of Claire's own efforts. After some time, Claire learned that it was okay to still hurt over Sylar's death and it was okay to still want to seek revenge on the other branches of the company. Her feelings were valid and she would be okay.

She was dealing, sharing, coping-- the whole shebang.. but there were still times like today when the wind shifted a certain way and shadows grew over the lake, times when she could still recall Sylar's touch and miss him being around so badly it felt like a physical ache.

On one of her travels around the lake, Claire found a small camping resort not far from Peter's house. Parents would bring their young children there to play at the beach and camp under the stars. She would stand and watch them from under the shadow of the pine trees, the unseen observer to their happiness. She eventually stopped going down there because it only brought up envious feelings. Everyone there looked so happy; it didn't seem fair.

Peter was her rock during the hardest of times but even he was difficult to be around. Desperate to repair the rift between them, he tried to do everything to make her happy and alleviate his own guilt. Claire hated to be that much trouble to him. Then there were the things they couldn't share because they were on such different pages about certain topics and certain people that they might as well be in different books.

* * *

"Did you sign up for those summer classes today?" Peter asked, placing a hamburger on her plate, fresh from the barbecue he was cooking up. Dinner by the lake, with the sunset going down over the water with the uncle she once thought she lost forever.. it should have been perfect. 

She blinked, coming back into the present moment and nodded. "It's only one class."

"Remind me: which one was that again?" He joined her at the table with a plate of french fries. Early evenings by the lake were gorgeous, complete with the slight breeze and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shore. Occasionally, a few sailboats could be seen in the distance. It was her favorite time of day and often brought about a sense of wonderment.

"Some.. economics class." He seemed interested in her life, which was all she had ever wanted so she lied to him at first. It was better than bringing up sore subjects. Then she caught saw the tiny downturn of his frown; he knew her too well for Claire to lie to him these days. "Okay.. okay, I'm taking a class on horology down at the Portland College of Art. An introduction to the science and art of watchmaking."

She starred down at her food, feeling stupid and guilty. Claire's therapist told her that she could honor Sylar's memory any way she chose fit but this still felt like a tiny betrayal on her part. She turned away, fearing Peter might show the old hatred he held for Sylar. That was exactly what she didn't need to deal with right now.

He played dumb, avoiding the topic that always sat between them like one giant elephant. "Is there any particular reason why you might be taking a class on that subject? You weren't coerced by some cute boy down at the registration office were you?"

"What?"

"Oh, it's just that that happened to me once. I ended up taking a class on the woman's movement during the Victorian age and.." He trailed off, his attempt at changing the subject failed miserably. Peter nodded, pointing out the obvious. "And you still miss him."

She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to speak on the subject but she couldn't pretend everything was fine anymore. "I do.. I miss him so much. After everything that happened with Sylar and those two years before that in the company.. I don't even know who I am anymore."

"Maybe you should reinvent yourself," he offered, between bites of his french fries. It was what he did years ago, his solution to his own pain. It wasn't such a bad idea, as long as she didn't turn her back on the past completely. "This is your chance, isn't it? A whole new life, in a new state.. going to a new college when the semester starts."

"I could get a new name. I could be.. Rolex." She grinned and pointed a french fry at him.

"Well, it's either that or Gucci. And you don't quite strike me as a Gucci." Peter shot back, eager to keep her in a good mood since Claire could rarely stay happy for very long these days. "But you know, Claire.. he may still be out there. I have a feeling he may surprise you yet."

"How can you be so sure?"

He shrugged. "Well, I exploded and I'm still alive."

It was meant to inspire her but Claire wouldn't hold out hope.

* * *

Life was moving on and Claire hated the way the seasons changed without her approval or say so. The world had no right to keep on turning, not when the one person who should be watching the seasons change with her wasn't there. 

Some days were easier and she was able to go about her daily routine like a normal college student, hiding what happened to her from the rest of the world. Others, like today, were so hard that all she wanted to do was sleep in late, keep to herself and ignore all the to-do's on her list of the day's errands. It wasn't worth doing anything, nothing she could do would bring him back.

She skipped out of school again that afternoon. It was that boy that sat in front of her in class, the one who told her she looked pretty yesterday. He was nice, funny, normal.. but he wasn't Sylar and his advances only made Claire miss the man she'd lost all the more.

Claire looked up from where she sat on the old, wooden swing that hung from one of the trees that dotted the shoreline. Peter walked out from the house and down to where she was sitting, talking to someone on Mohinder's cell phone in his hand. She closed her eyes, remembering her promise to send the cell phone back to the doctor. It was one more thing on her list that she'd been putting off.

"You have a phone call." He waved the cell phone in front of her, seeming overly excited for some reason. It was an act he put on for her on worst days, like he was a parent motivating their child to eat their supper. "Someone really wants to speak with you."

It was probably just another stupid call from school or maybe Mohinder asking to get his phone back again. Either way, she really didn't want to be bothered or shaken out of her unhappy mood. "Tell them I'll call them back later."

"Okay. If that's what you want." He understood; he was getting better figuring out when to push her forward and when to let her be alone. She returned to starring at one of the sailboats out on the lake hoist anchor while Peter resumed talking on the phone, rather loudly. "Yeah, Claire doesn't want to talk to anyone, _Sylar_ ."

Claire picked her head up, her frown fading slightly.

"Yeah.. I don't know what to tell you, _Sylar_ .. she's just really upset lately. She misses someone.. I don't know who _that_ could be." Peter spoke again. Claire turned to listen to his end of the conversation. He couldn't have just said what she thought he just said. "Yes, you've already told me that you're busy and you won't be able to get to another phone until the next week, _Sylar_.. maybe by the time you call back, she'll want to--"

"Give me the phone!" Claire darted up from the swing, jumping after Peter as he began to walk back to the house in a slow, leisurely pace. She was quick on his heels, rushing to reach him before he hung up. "Peter, wait! Gimme the phone. Come on."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to anyone." He smirked, teasing her, placing his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "I don't want to bother you so, I'll just let Sylar know he'll have to call back later." She clung to his arm but he was enjoying this game a bit too much to end it so quickly. He paused to speak to the person on the other line. "Yeah, so if you'll just call back when you get another chance.."

"Peter!" She kicked him in the shin, lightly.

"Oh wait, Claire just decided she wants to talk to you." Peter said before he handed over the cell phone. She took it in her trembling hands, starring down at the phone like it was a foreign object. She didn't know what to say.. this was all taking her by surprise. He patted her on the head, softly. "Go on, Claire. He wants to speak to you."

She took a deep breath, brought the phone to her ear and stuttered out a hello. "Sy-sylar?"

There was a pause on the line and for a brief instant, Claire thought maybe this was all a cruel trick. Peter wouldn't do something like that though, not now after living together for six months. He finally answered her, a bit apprehensive. "I've missed you, Claire."

"I.. oh god. Is that really you?" Claire felt herself going numb in shock and made sure to sit down on the front stairs before she fell over. There were tears in her eyes, happy ones this time. She was glad that he wasn't there for once. She didn't want him to see her crying like a baby. "I-- I thought you were dead."

"Me? Please." He scoffed. The old familiar cockiness rose in his voice. There was also an inherent tiredness which he seemed intent on to covering up. "The company can't keep me down for long. You should know that by now. How have you been? Peter told me you were.. upset."

"How have I been?!" She suddenly felt very angry at his nonchalant tone. It was like experiencing the five stages of grief in reverse. "Oh, you know, I've just been great after watching someone I really cared about burst into flames and then disappear for six months to let me presume him dead."

"..I'm sorry."

"What?" She furrowed her eyebrows, wondering if this was indeed the same Sylar she once knew. Since when did he ever say sorry.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have called sooner. I didn't know you would miss me that much. I didn't think you would miss me at all."

"Well, I did. A lot. And if you ever almost die again, I'm going to kill you." She paused before gathering enough courage to ask for more details. "How did you almost die but not really die anyway?"

"I survived the explosion." He explained. "Evolution saw fit to make those of us with induced radioactivity immune to our own power.. unfortunately by the time I figured this out a whole building had already fallen on top of me. I spent a week waiting for the Red Cross rescue team to dig me out of there.. a few more in the hospital thinking about how to take down the rest of the company, which is why I'm calling. I wanted to know if you want to help."

That peeked her attention. Peter may not like her getting involved with a plot to take down the rest of the company, but she owed it to her family to do what she could to destroy the company that took their lives.

"I'm game." She set her jaw determinedly. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm not sure yet.. I was thinking about breaking into more of their facilities and exploding again, but well.. it was kind of painful the first time around." He laughed before turning more serious. "Would it be okay if I came up there so we could talk about this plan.. and other things?"

"When have you ever needed my permission for anything you've ever done?"

"Ah, that's right." He replied before putting on a show of menacing bravado. "I'll be there in three days, whether you like it or not."

She laughed again. "I'll see you then."

"Oh, and Claire?"

"Yes?"

He hesitated, "..I love you."

By the time she could recover from the shock of Sylar's words, he'd hung up and the phone went dead. She starred at it for a moment, wishing he didn't leave so abruptly but she also knew that these things were hard for him. He wasn't used to loving or being loved.. but she would teach him what it meant. He was, as he'd shown in the past, a quick learner.

Claire left the phone on the steps and walked out to the lake. A breeze blew through the trees, whipping her hair around her face. The company wasn't going to know what hit it. They would all pay and she would finally be able to rest after everything they'd done to her and Sylar.

She was ready.

-THE END-

_(Whoa.. I'm finished. Weird.)_


End file.
